Bind Them (A Thranduil fan-fic) - Book 2 of Mirkwood Royals
by magicbunni
Summary: (In 7 Chapters.) A solemn purpose has separated Lusis Buckmaster from her friends and chosen home in the Halls of the Elvenking. And, soon, cries of wargs split the night air, silent strangers glide into Buckmaster Keep, and the famed Messenger-Men of the North come under attack - the results of an imbroglio between Men and elves, and a contrivance to lay low an inconvenient King.
1. Chapter 1

**Title** : Bind Them  
 **Status** : Complete  
 **Pages** : 335 (7 Chapters)  
 **Characters** : Thranduil Oropherion; Legolas Thranduilion; Elrond; Galadriel; Lindir; Glorfindel; OCs.  
 **Warnings** : None.

This mystery is a complete standalone story in 7 Chapters (~ 40 - 50 pages per Ch).

 **Summary** : Some people are built for esoteric training, and some are Ranger Chiefs. So Chief Buckmaster finds herself in the Northern ranges again. A solemn purpose has separated her from her friends and chosen home in the Halls of the Elvenking. But soon the cries of wargs split the night air, silent strangers glide into Buckmaster Keep, and the famed Messenger-Men of the North come under attack - the results of an imbroglio between Men and elves, and a contrivance to lay low an _inconvenient_ King.

Please enjoy!

 **~ Bind Them ~**

 **Chapter 1**

The winter air was tight with cold and its spiraling gusts were remorseless this far up the slopes of the nameless Northern Mountains. But the girl who stood overlooking Cold Pass was used to it. She adjusted the fur she huddled in and stared into the distance. Dawn was coming.

The block of mountain she stood on was nestled between two higher peaks. They were covered in perpetual snow that, when the wind was right, dusted the mountain spur on which Buckmaster Keep was built. It was doing so now. The great monster to her left that she felt sure none but the most obscure map named, was the mother-stone of Buckmaster Spur. It was called Limgoroth. Her father – the man who had taken her in – spoke a broken kind of elvish, being from the Dunedain, and had told her from her early days that the name meant swift horror. Limgoroth was the tallest of the mountains in the area, had a murderously steep incline, and terrifying avalanches. In fact, it could only be safely approached from the long, gentler grade of Buckmaster Spur. The stone rose between the Keep and the summit of Limgoroth. At the pass to the Limgoroth side, chutes of snow roared down the mountain and struck with little warning. That pass was often called The Graveyard. One of the families who lived on Buckmaster Spur lit a signal fire when the pack looked serious. Sometimes archers let off fireworks into it, but, though effective, that was a rare occurrence. Fireworks were expensive. She turned away from the great mountain to her left and looked at the smaller mountain to her right.

Bregolnag. Fierce bite. The wind from the Wastes hit it full-bore, which left its grey face bare in the dulling snow. Freezing to death up there took only minutes for the unwary. She stopped looking at the giants and reflected that fewer and fewer of them knew the old Elvish names of these places anymore. Like many of her generation, Lusis Buckmaster knew only to call them what they'd always been called. She spoke no Elvish.

The Buckmasters had lived here for about two centuries. They were Dunedain blood and powerful in the North. They had established the spur as a Northern Ranger resupply and resting place in every possible sense of the word. To that end, there was a plateau that faced the Wastes where the stone cairns of fallen Rangers mounded the snowy land. This was where many Rangers came to be laid to rest.

Soon, her father would dwell among them.

She wrapped her arms around herself and the immobile pain inside.

When someone was dying, and you stood by watching, there was nothing left of you but love and aching. The cold of the mountains was the only thing with enough power to make her numb. Nevrmen Buckmaster was seeing his last winter, and she was nothing but his defender, his security, on his way out of this world. She wasn't even his daughter. He'd never had one.

He'd taken her in.

He'd never know she was an Istari. She'd not bother him with that detail now. He had other things to think about. And she didn't believe it herself.

The sun became a smudge at the side of Limgoroth's snow-smoked peak. It rose out of the windswept hoar of the mountain, and began to light the earth.

Slowly, in the distance, she began to see, little by little, the massive trees of the Northern Woodland Realm. When the sun was high enough that she could make out the great blanket of it – as broad and gleaming in its flattery of icicles as an inland sea – she extended one hand toward it.

Somewhere. Somewhere down there and to the South there were two troublesome sisters, two great and powerful rivers: one whose currents were so convoluted as to require an expert navigator just to safely pass; and one whose beauty could seduce any who touched her into a sleep that was next to fatal. The Forest River. The Enchanted River. And where these rivers joined forces, there were ancient Halls cut from living stone and peopled by Silvan elves. And inside of them ruled the oldest King in the world.

And she would be dust. Her father, her family, the Buckmaster Keep, and everything she knew would be splinters flying across the world one day. But he would endure. No matter what. He would last. At a time like this, she reached blindly for that world.

But it had been six months now, since she'd been in the Halls of the Elvenking.

She'd been in training with Radagast for two of those months. That had been next to useless. They got along well enough, even though she really, really thought he might be crazy, but this whole idea that she was going to be able to talk to titmice and gossip with gophers – his words – had proven to be exactly what she'd thought it would be. Hogwash. If he wanted someone who could talk to an animal, she could direct him to Steed, full-blooded Dunedain horse-whisperer, or, as she'd told him, there was a terrific elf in Northern Mirkwood he could talk to. An Elfking who could hear deer.

Lusis looked at the snow piling up and the anonymous fur lumps that were her feet. They were buried almost up to her knees, and she wasn't a short girl. She blinked and glanced up at the sky. It wasn't just blowing snow. It was now actively snowing. Damn. She turned toward the Keep and found it difficult to make out the walls through the thickening weather.

Ropes. She made her way to the ropes that led uphill. They led to all sorts of places like a web outside the walls of Buckmaster Keep. She ploughed up to the nearest of the posts on which the red rope hung. The wind usually kept this path clear enough. They seemed only four feet high, but were actually ten. She was walking on snow pack. And when weather threatened to cover the ropes, they were unhooked and moved up to the next steel ring.

She gripped the line. It was as thick as her forearm. She dragged herself along to an intersection and turned to the right when the rope forked. She came up toward the ridge and was suddenly snow blind. There was nothing around her but endless white. The bells rang out in the haze. A snow storm was rolling in from the Wastes. But she felt she didn't need the bells to know that. The sun had just risen, and it was getting dark. The sunlight was short up here at this time of year – there would be a little over eight hours now, and soon, only about six. But when storms rolled in, those were called the Hours Without Days. Lusis was coming to the month that mountaineers called The Long Cold.

There were other people on the line with her. A young person – it was impossible to tell gender with such thick padding – stumbled along, unable to keep solid footing. The cold could do that. It could kill you where you stood, or hit from the inside out. Lusis put her arm around the smaller person's chest and kept the child upright. She was counting her steps. They were almost to the broad stone walls of Buckmaster Keep.

The gates would be to the left and ahead. Just ten minutes of walking separated them from relative safety. The figure she held stumbled again. Lusis linked her elbow around the rope and picked the child up. She began to speed up in her climb toward the walls. Cold was dangerous. Not being able to speak properly, or keep your feet? Serious signs of trouble.

Someone's hand found her shoulder and traced along her back. It went down her other arm and found the line. This was normal in these parts. It happened a few more times. All of the people on the line pushed upward until the ground leveled out. Now they were close, but the congestion to the line made the walk longer. The child she carried was shivering. It was a good thing. It would be bad if he or she stopped in this temperature. That was the beginning of death.

There were globes of torchlight ahead with snow melting down the side of the slatted steel, and piling on the pointed cap designed to let in enough air for them to burn without being blown out. She passed under the globe of lamp-oil and the child in her arms curled up at the sight of it. Not far now. It was less than thirty steps to the gates. They were shut, but the smaller door further up had been opened and the steps had been lowered down. She clattered up them with everyone else, and onto the wood walk that ran along the top of one of the door bars. On the far side, where everyone else walked down to the streets and buildings of the first bailey, she went straight into the stone wall by way of a riveted metal door. She wasn't just anyone. She was a Buckmaster. There was next to nowhere on the Spur that she couldn't get in.

Inside the door was a muck-room. She kicked off the snow and pushed clods of it through the little wood vents where the floor and wall intersected. The man inside the muck-room with her was a guard. Someone was always positioned here. He got up from beside his stove, laid down his book, and knocked the door to the next room in a pattern.

"The Chief's Buckmaster Miss!" he added to that.

There was currently only one of those. Lusis noted inwardly. It hadn't hit her until right then that, after her father died, her family could lose Chiefdom of the place. True, it wasn't likely. She had fourteen brothers. There was no Buckmaster line as potent as Nevrman's. But it was so strange to think of. What if her younger uncle Kirnor took over? He was a little too fond of the mead hall, Kirnor. But that didn't change the fact that things she didn't want to change… were changing.

The door opened and the next guard nodded at her. "Come on through, Miss Buckmaster."

"Gerrick, I've known you since we were both kids." She exhaled and set down the child she held. "Do you think you can call me Lusis?"

He smiled. "Nope." And then noted, "Who do you have there?"

She had no idea and looked down at the shivering bear-skin. "Who are you, child?"

A muffled voice came out, small and piping.

"Hood." Gerrick's big hand gestured at his face to indicate she needed to unhook the part of the hood that closed over all but narrow slats for the eyes.

The child's mitten-hands fumbled with that, so Lusis took off her own mitts and under-gloves and did it instead. A little pink face came out. A girl.

"Lindy Garrison, you might as well go back out there." Gerrick gasped. "Your mother will kill you if she finds out you were outside the walls this month. The Long Cold is just around the corner. What were you thinking?"

The ten-year-old pulled a face. "I wanted to go where Lusis went."

Now Gerrick gaped and pointed, "Lus, you thought of this?"

"Oh Stars no, it wasn't me!" Lusis threw up her hands. "Gerrick, do not go telling Merna Garrison I took her precious bunny out on the Spur's edge."

Somehow, his eyes got wider still. "You took Lindy to the Spur's edge? Stars, I know you flout rules, Lus, but… by gods, when Merna and Floy find out you are doomed." He clapped one hand in the other to emphasize the point. "Dooomed."

"No. No I didn't!" Lusis shook her head back and forth violently enough to splatter snow all over Gerrick, even into his mouth, which caused him to sputter, and Lindy to giggle.

"Oh, hush you," Lusis laughed at the girl's amusement and sat her up straighter. She exhaled a cloud of steam. The walls were thick at the Keep, but they weren't warm. Not at this time of year. Then she looked at Lindy again. "Listen. Whatever it is you're trying to do, following me around… you know it has to stop, don't you?"

She frowned at Lusis. "Because of my mother and-"

"Because this is a bad time for my family. And a worse time to dig up bloody bones." She set her warm fingertips on the girl's wide red cheeks. "You don't set a foot outside of this guard-wall until you've had some hot cider and warmed up." She was a little too cold to the touch.

Gerrick gave Lusis' shoulder a nudge, "We'll see to getting her home." His voice was suddenly sober, as if he'd remembered the situation. It was not natural to think of Nevrmen Buckmaster as having feet of clay. He'd been larger than life for so long. "You should go home too, Lusis. Go on."

She gave Lindy's brown curls a ruffling before she straightened. She went down the long and narrow passage until she reached the black door onto which, nearly two-hundred years ago, someone had painted the horns of a stag. For a moment, she looked at them. At the shadowy imprints of other antlers painted by other artists, ages before. The painted antlers that she knew were now twenty years old. When she looked at their slender tines, the inevitable image of the Elfking's bull-elk came to mind. The thought was painful. She pushed the door, stepped out of the wall, and hopped down to the snowpack.

It was a short walk from there to the actual Buckmaster Keep. This big, wood hall was built in a style from a bygone age. Any renovations had maintained that old look. The entire community had taken its name from this great old-style hall. It had a wall and gate of its own, and was covered in Cirth runes she didn't know how to read. When she passed through the small apse in the gate, a guard having opened it for her, she walked the snow-cleared stone flags to the broad steps of Buckmaster Keep – a huge space full of men, presently. It was large enough to act as a hotel. During storms, it was common to find people sheltering here. She went between pillars into the cedar antechamber and shut her eyes. When she looked up, a blue banner hung on the inner doors. There was an elf word printed there. Apart from being told, she wouldn't have known what it said. She knew the sound.

Cuin. It meant alive.

He was alive. She opened the door to let herself inside.

Lusis started breathing again.

She took off the thick fur she wore and went inside. It was usually something of a party in the Great Hall. Not these days. Even the small, friendly conversations of travelers along the tables were subdued. There were five fires in here, and a wall of heat made her thick fur outer boots uncomfortable. She leaned on the wall by the doors and unlaced them. Her stout-soled, well-oiled leather boots were underneath. The North was about layers. She tucked her snow boots and coat in the large cabinet marked with white antlers. Scanning the lofty room, she could see the long shelves that ran around the room between fires did have people sleeping on them. Not all of them were trappers and traders who'd stumbled in out of the cold. Some were Rangers who spent almost all their time on the land and out of doors, come to see their old friend Nevrmen off. Some were travelers the storm had caught at a bad time, or who had been either rerouted here from the passes, or rescued from them. And some were people from the surrounding towns and villages who had known nothing better than they knew the protection of the Buckmasters for the last two centuries.

And some were her family.

"Every morning. Every one. You know you shouldn't disappear like that, Lusis," said her oldest brother, Kirstmen, as he found her first. He was tall, broad, and bearded. His dark blue eyes were severe as the mountain range around them, and his temper, lately was shorter than ever before. "There are only two women in this house, beyond the staff. And there are some things they should not be doing. That is where you come in. Or why do you think you were summoned back here?"

"Because he is my father?"

Kirstman's blond brows drew down in anger, his voice was low, so that it couldn't be overheard by the throngs of people in Buckmaster Hall. "You know the truth of that."

Yes. She did. And it was painful to be reminded. He was a fool about the bloodline, in fact. He acted as if the staff weren't like family, or were somehow beneath him. Or like none of Nevrmen's many boys could pitch in – some of whom were undoubtedly doing so right now. She stepped up to him, "Kirst, it is interesting that you so regularly remind me I cannot claim him as my father, yet you won't deign to change his bedsheets. No. That's my work, who is neither staff nor family."

"You're too lippy to make a good wife." He scowled at her. "Go do your work." He turned from her and went to join some of the more prominent members of the Northern Convergence – an assembly of Northern Men who, essentially, ran everything from the last Mirkwood tree to the uninhabitable Wastes. She glanced over them and inclined her head to the aged member who hailed from the Fell family. They were on the very boarders of Angmar and deeply interested in her. She smiled at Ragnar Ayesir, tall, broad, and red-haired, who had come all the way from the Northern Hoard. He looked worn.

"If that's so, then all is going to plan," she told him flatly. It was childish, but then, so was Kirstmen. He was a nuisance. The Buckmaster children numbered fourteen. Fifteen if you included her. And some did. And some didn't.

Mellona Buckmaster had had nine. Nev's first wife, Ona, was responsible for the first five, and Kirstmen had been first of them all. He was a spoiled, entitled, bigheaded nit. In contrast, Lusis had been found by her 'uncle', Lengrmar Buckmaster, wandering the wild, and then brought here to be raised. There was a division in the ranks between those who resented her for usurping the surname, and those who welcomed her.

"You think you're glib, but you're an ignorant child, Lusis, particularly in the ways and demands of power." Kirstmen stopped rolling up a Northern map drawn on goat hide to tell her. "And you're not needed here. Go help mother."

Lusis inhaled her irritation and pushed it down under the knowledge that her father should neither be bothered by childish squabbles right now, nor could he walk out and put Kirstmen in his place with a hard look. As the only girl, Nevrmen had a deep connection with Lusis. He could tolerate no slight aimed at his daughter.

She found her way to her mother. Mellona Buckmaster glanced over her only girl-child, the one not remotely related to her family, and, by far, the most errant of her children, and she was grateful. "Ah, love," she said sadly. These bleak days were brutal on their mother. And behind that look came seven hours of hard work. Still, if there was one thing that Lusis was good at, it was getting things clean.

She didn't work alone either. A whole troop of brother Rangers – her actual brothers and otherwise – helped her. They swept the house. They scrubbed the floors. Every dish was washed, dried, and put up in scoured cabinets. The walls were cleaned, and where there were chips or dings, paint was mixed and the walls were given a coat. Bedding was changed and cleaned, rugs were aired and beaten, and rafters and ceilings were wiped down. This house would be spotless, spotless, for the last days of Nevrmen Buckmaster.

Her muscles were burning by the time she was nearly finished. She and very many of her brothers sat cleaning and oiling boots and covetously watching the massive stew pot three of their house staff were attending. Several wild Rangers – the kind who came inside only at the direst of occasions – went to the alms bowl and dropped in coins. Everyone gave what they could when it came to getting fed. Every bit helped when the house was full.

"So…" Irin began innocently. He was the same age as Lusis, and had been gifted with the most innocent of faces. He used it to get away with murder – not in a literal sense. While he tried to imagine her life in the wild, he scrubbed his father's best leather boots. "Have you had fun? Have you eloped? Struck gold out there? What have you been up to, Lusis?"

She was notoriously closed-mouthed, and so no one really expected her to answer 'cold'.

One of her older brothers, Remee, chimed in. "Last I heard you'd been in Ered Mithrim making people fear our surname." He smiled on the end of that. Remee was handsome, and several women in the room immediately took note of him.

"We've had word from The Hoard," Irin said of the huge mountain repository of books not far from where they were situated. "The Ayesirs want their boy back."

Now Lusis smiled. "If they want Redd back," she glanced at where the man had taken down every placard of antlers in the hall and was now washing them all free of dust, "they'll have to come and take him from me. Same with the others." Icar and Aric were on wall patrol today, but would be back soon. Steed had gone to see his family – they were in the foothills, and he couldn't get back and forth quickly.

"Where have you been, little Buckmaster?" Remee tried again. "You look so well-fed, all of you."

She finished one of her mother's white boots and set it back on the rack in the cabinet. After a moment she said, "Forest River and Long Lake way."

"There was a skirmish that way of late." Elsenord said brightly. He was older than Irin, but just as irrepressible. "I heard Argus Samas and all his manpower went to fight in it. They're seeing big pay."

"Big pay." sighed Irin, dreamily.

His closest brother, Tiranord, swatted him in the back of the head with a washcloth.

"That rag's full of bear fat, you idiot!" Irin rolled to one side and the pair of them bowled to the door trying to throttle one another. Lusis picked up the boot she was cleaning to let them pass under it and roll away.

"See anything of it, Lusis?" Elsenord asked her carefully.

"What?" she took out the laces in her mother's boots and set them on the floor to scrub them with a nail-brush. Her brows went up.

"Ah," Remee nodded at this. "So you did see action there."

"Nothing big," she told them. Well. Unless you thought attack by half a dozen venomous snakes the size of a river, a thirty foot Fire Salamander, a host of murderous shades tearing out human eyes for their own use, and a devious Lammia mastermind with designs on chaining an Istari to her evil pursuits was a big deal. Which it was. And which it couldn't be here, unless she wanted to find herself with overly-excited chaperones on the way out. Because she was going back. She was.

There must have been rumours of a lot of action, because the boys looked at one another. And Lonnan, who had been leaning on the wall for a rest, now crouched down beside her. "From the look on your face… you'll be heading out again. And that might not be the worst idea for you." He kept his voice low. "None of us can force Kirstmen to be fair. He is eldest."

"I know," she said a bit hollowly.

"Stop," Remee shook his head and then extended a hand he set over her own on the brush. "You're fine, Lusis. Nothing is going to happen to you in this house as long as the rest of us live. You forget that mother would nail Kirst to the wall by his root vegetables if he trifled with you."

She looked up at her big brother, the child of Nev's first wife, and was suddenly amused. "Root vegetables, Rem?"

"You're a lady," his eyes widened as he leaned back. "Theoretically. And if that's the case, one has to be delicate."

A swell of laughter happened among her brothers beside the door. Lusis grinned and shook her head. For all their bravado, there was not a man among them, she bet, who could boast as many skirmishes in the field as she could. No. She went looking for trouble. Her brothers seemed aware of that fact.

Lonnan picked up his father's boots, discarded by the younger brothers who now chased out into the yard, and began removing the laces. "So, who is he?"

She flinched and looked up at him. Her face was instantly in that impersonal Ranger mask that gave nothing to the enemy. None of her brothers missed that.

"Remind me not to play poker with you," Elsenord said quietly. "Is it a man? Or is it a... a fixation of some kind? Some… unfinished business down in the Rhovanion?"

"No." She went back to the shoelaces. "It's nothing."

"Some people just can't sit still," Remee said gently of his little sister. "Leave her be, Else."

"You're right. You're right." Elsenord nodded at the boot he held, and reached up to scratch his dark blond stubble. "But… you know. I've seen her look out over the Withered Heath. Out at the Grey Mountains. Out at the Wastes. I've seen you looking for a way out to the fighting before, Lusis. But I've never seen you look down into the Great Greenwood like you do now. You're out there at dawn, every day. You don't look at things that way. You never have."

"What way?" She shook out her hair. "That direction, you mean? Maybe I've gone all the other ways. It's not a mysterious thing, Else. I don't like dirt. I like to clean it up. I don't want dirty Orcs and Goblins, and those filthy Uruk-hai on my lands."

"Your lands?"

"The lands." She corrected herself and inwardly kicked Radagast for his endless drumming into her head that this land was hers. Her responsibility. The protection of its Free Peoples was her onus. It was something that she'd always felt in her heart, but that he had given voice to. She couldn't un-hear his words – The rise or fall of the Free Peoples of Middle Earth also rests in the hearts of Istari, and, with time, all the world's getting and giving, living and dying, all the pleasures and troubles of Men and Elves, press themselves into your robes and wear them threadbare. You will always be aware of them, little Lusis. Which he'd made sound really enjoyable – she rolled her eyes thinking about it. He'd followed this with: Now let's have a smoke!

That man had some gruesome habits. Like never clearing the nest of mice out of his beard.

"That's not what he meant," said Lonnan. He was now scrubbing laces and didn't dare look at his brave sister.

"That way, Lusis. I mean," Elsenord took a breath and said it as gently as he could, "like you miss someone."

She jolted like he'd pushed her.

Elsenord quickly added onto this, "It's okay to miss someone." He glanced around him at the sober faces of his brothers. No one here knew what had happened to Lusis before her arrival in their house. She'd long refused to talk about it. But all of them knew her adjustment to living with people had been troubled, and that meant her early life had been lonely and possibly painful. Something had broken her ability to trust in others. Now she started in putting the boot laces back, her face shut away.

But Remee had helped to raise their little hellion, and he couldn't bear the worry he felt. "Did something happen to you in Long Lake?"

"Did something?" Lonnan's dark head came up. "If something happened… tell me who it was, and you won't have to think about it ever again."

"Quit talking like that." Lusis instructed him.

"She can fight. She doesn't need you to do it," Irin shook off clods of snow, cursed himself and went for a mop nearby. Tiranord, behind him, had had the better of the skirmish and leaned beside the door that travelers passed through. He watched Lusis quietly.

"Why are you so different then?" asked Elsenord. "What happened? And how can you blame us for worrying about you?"

"You must admit," Tiranord smiled lopsidedly from the doorway. "Of all of us, you're not only the wildest Ranger, you're easily the craziest." He glanced over her hair, and the ribbons of gold that now appeared in it. Lusis had noticed the same and wondered, sometimes, if that was part of being what Radagast the Brown called, the Yellow Istari.

She didn't know how to tell the boys she was – according to the Elfking of Mirkwood, and the Lord of Rivendell's reckoning – a wizard. It was simply incomprehensible. She didn't even know what it meant. And this wasn't the time for big news. Every second that ticked by, every breath, and every word she said, she was losing her father. Her fingers started to shake.

Lusis got to her feet and left them by the door. She walked straight up to her room and shut herself in. She'd take a bath in the bath-house downstairs. That would fix it. She loved being clean. Her hands went for supplies in the trunk by her bed. Soap powder. A robe. A comb. Her fingers pushed them all aside and found the snowy white paper packet that faintly glowed at the bottom of the trunk. She tipped it out. The chain the Elfking had given her—and that had broken in time with the shadow-noose the Lammia had confined her spirit with—tumbled into her hand. Its silver glowed faintly. Its pearls still seemed to glisten and move like arms of stars in the sky.

She closed her fist around it, and pressed it to her forehead.

Let him be well. She couldn't save her father. Nothing could, now.

So let them be well in the Halls. Stars and gods, do not let them suffer like I am.

Since nothing could bring her peace of mind anymore, she felt cursed. Fated. She sent a silent prayer through the silver. "My Greatest King, it's true we humans are made of dust. But you and your long memory of us must endure. You must do this for us." It was the part of her that longed for security and stability that begged him to last now.

She didn't want her father's memory to fade from all living thought.

Lusis paced her confines. She couldn't stand it. She couldn't stand being trapped, not even trapped inside the burning mountain of her feelings.

The door tapped. Hastily, she put away the chain and envelope and shut the trunk. She tried to calm herself, reach for her inner Ranger, before she answered, "Yes, what is it?"

"He's awake." The voice was Mellona's. "He's asking for you, Lusis."

Like a page tearing top-to-bottom at the center of a book, those passages lost forever, she felt another piece of her pull away. But this was one thing she would not do wrong. She squared herself, smoothed herself, and went to the door. She joined her harried mother in the walk to the dying room.

Her father's bubbling breathing met her before she stepped into the room.

"Hello, my Lusis," he greeted her unsteadily. "I'm so glad you could come home."

She sat down on the edge of his bed and held his weathered hand. It was snow-reddened. They'd brought down his fever with snow, earlier today. She still wasn't sure what affliction had hold of him, but then, no one was. People passed in the High North and the causes weren't often named.

His beard was trimmed back, and his brown eyes narrowed as he said, "How are the boys treating you? Are they taking care of my girl?"

"I'm like a queen," she told him and pushed back his snarl of white hair.

"You could never lie," he paused for a gurgling breath, "to me." He tapped his chest lightly, "You're my daughter, Lusis. I named you myself." His unsteady fingers gestured at the wooden top of the four-poster bed, which had a woodcut of mountains, "For the spirit lights in the sky of the-"

"High North," she smiled at him. "I know, adar."

For a moment, he struggled to breathe, and Lusis started to rise to get help from their shamans. But he gripped her hand. "No. No you don't." He coughed thickly and said, "I know… I know you remember this story, Lusis-iell. But you forget. You forget what it means."

She looked at him through a haze of tears.

"I named you, little light." He exhaled slowly and she could hear bubbles rising and popping inside of him, "You must never forget what that means."

Her father was awake for an hour. She went to her bath after that, like a shadow of herself. Nearly numb. Her mother took her from there and to the Main Hall for her meal. Lusis sat looking at it, at the hunks of mountain goat meat. "Radagast wouldn't eat you either," she poked it. "I wonder if I'm a failed person, a broken Istari, because I like pot-roast." The thought and the stress all made her giggle.

A platter of vegetables appeared on her left. Someone glided down to sit on the bench beside her. His body made a single graceful swivel and long legs folded up under him. His voice was soft, "My friend, you are not a failed creation. You are not broken."

Her spine straightened. Lusis' wide-eyes sought the man beside her. He wore a deep cloak whose colour was a familiar dark green. She looked, instead, at his deft, pale hands as they tried to figure out the strange human utensils.

"Ewon?"

"Yes, friend-Lusis?"

"What… are you doing here?" She looked down at her plate to keep from exploding. So many feelings raged inside of her. Worry and pain. Desolation and longing. Love and duty. Half of her brothers had rejected her. Half were trying to smother her. And now the life she'd tried to choose, freely, for herself, had just simply appeared beside her. It was a minor miracle she didn't throw herself to the left and tackle him to the floorboards. And then hold him tight. As if she could.

"I am here," he answered her, "because you were due from Radagast in the Southern Mirkwood a month prior. But you didn't come back. Perhaps you do not know how the young Kingdom's-seneschal feels about schedules?"

She stared at her plate with an insurrection burning inside, and she prayed for some power to hold her down. One half of her wondered if this was what it was like to have a furnace in her chest. One half was afraid she would start laughing, that she would stand up and hug him around the head, or do something else that was untimely, impolite, and culturally insensitive.

Then she did it. She laid down her unused knife, slid her arm a fraction to one side, and folded her hand into his. His fingers stiffened. Relaxed. He held her hand. "Lusis-hen. What is wrong?"

"My father is dying." She managed a miracle when she said this aloud for the first time.

His hand tightened. It hurt for a moment before he eased off. "Ah, lamb. Poor lamb." His voice was a soft lulling, deep and melodic. Something inside of her eased. Lusis shut her eyes and held his hand between their plates.

She breathed deeply because he smelled like trees.

"Little one, I do not know… the protocols. I can leave. Go down to the forest and wait."

Her fingers flinched more tightly on his hand, selfish, all of a sudden. And worried. She didn't like to think of him heading back down the snow-clogged mountain by himself. It was bad enough he'd travelled up into the teeth of this storm.

Ewon said after a moment. "I will not abandon you, little one. But let me fulfil this duty I have, then I will stay by you through this dark night."

Her eyes opened, and she repeated. "This duty I have." What duty could one of the Elite guards from Mirkwood have here? She looked up and around the room. Her eyes made out her brothers in a cluster not far away, and passed over them. Redd was asleep on a bench between fires. Aric and Icar had just come in and were sweeping the snow out the door. Wait. Her eyes skipped back to the cloaked figure that leaned against the wall beside where Redd slept. Tall, broad shouldered, and lost in the hood of his deep blue cloak.

The air sucked out of her. There was no way – Amathon? Was that Amathon?

Her hair whipped when she looked aside at Ewon, or rather, Ewon's hood.

She was so confused, she didn't see her brothers' coming.

"Excuse me, friend," Conach Buckmaster sat down at the table beside Ewon, and Lusis sucked in a quick breath. Her hand bounced away from the elf.

Hastily, she added, "Ewon, go now."

The elf glided off the bench and smoothed his fine traveler's cloak with hands so graceful she couldn't comprehend that they didn't recognize he wasn't human.

Conach stood up. "I'm speaking to you, friend."

She managed not to slap her forehead with a hand, "Let him be, Conach," Lusis got up and caught his wrist tightly. It was necessary to be firm with him. He was a lunkhead. In truth, Conach was like Kirstman in his opposition to her presence here, and always had been. His problem wasn't a matter of Lusis taking the Buckmaster name, so much as he had huge issues with her role. Conach believed she'd been brought to the family to help them cover the earth with Buckmasters. She thought that sounded boring, and, all through her childhood, she'd told him so. By now, they were adversaries.

She saw Conach snatch at Ewon, which made her scoff. It was like grabbing a handful of smoke. Her older brother jerked free of her, "I deserve to know the face of the man who was insulting the pride of this family, do I not? Who are you? Who dares as much under our own roof?" He turned to follow Ewon and was forced to screech to a stop, because Ewon hadn't moved but a few steps. And now he stood, side-on to the hulking Man, the picture of deadly readiness.

And the Elite held position, long, slender, and imposing. He waited in case Lusis might have need of him in her difficulty. But she was used to the rebuffs of her eldest brothers. She told him. "Ewon, this is my presumptuous brother. Please overlook his bad manners… as a favour to me. By all means, go and see to your business."

More brothers were on the way around the table as she said so. But of course they were coming. She didn't willingly touch people outside the immediate family except – usually – to help them or to take them down a notch. "Fires," she groaned. "The problem with being a Buckmaster, friend, is that is comes with an endless tumble of overzealous brothers."

"All of them?" the hooded elf sounded a bit dazed.

"Oh, that's not all of them." She exhaled.

At least young, cheerful Irin arrived at Ewon first. He smiled cheerily. "Who are you, sir?" he extended a friendly hand to Ewon who had no idea what to do with it. His elven hood moved – she knew that gradient – and the elf looked down at that reaching blade of human hand. He was a seasoned elf and had spent Ages among his own kind, up until very recently. It was the same reason why his Westron was so formal, and so heavily accented.

Lusis pushed into the knot of tall men, but she didn't make it in time for Irin not to literally reach down and take Ewon's long, pale hand. Her brother held it two-handed and gave it a small series of shakes. The elf stepped back, his arm drawn long between them, with no idea what was happening now.

The long figure beside Redd came off the wall.

"It's a greeting," Lusis said warmly, but hurriedly, and then in a more scathing voice. "Will you let him go, Irin, you halfwit."

"You were familiar with him. I saw. And that means someone knows where you've been, and news of you, little sister," Irin beamed at the hooded man. "Or is this him? Is this the one you stare down the mountain and wish for? Who you think of while staring at the Great Greenwood?"

Ewon's hood turned sharply in her direction.

"Welcome friend," said Irin.

"Irin, stop talking." Lusis patted air as if to push her many brothers back, and then her chin dropped toward her chest. "He doesn't understand. Please forgive him, friend-Ewon."

Now Ewon inclined his head to her, and to Irin, who he did not know. His hooded head turned a fraction left before he started away. The Elf's pale fingers vanished into his cloak, doubtless to touch something dangerous. Her bet was a fighting knife.

"I'm sorry about that, traveler," Remee said.

The elf passed him on the way around the table. He was not threatening, unlike Conach, and not overly excited, like Irin. Remee was simply himself. "It's been a long year for the sons of Nevrmen Buckmaster. Of which so very many of us around are." He tucked his hands together behind his back and fell in beside Ewon, "But this is the Buckmaster Keep, and – in spite of the stupidity of Conach, my elder brother – we welcome strangers and travelers here, particularly those who need protection from the snow and the beasts abroad. If you are one such, there is nothing to fear."

The elf exhaled. His smooth, quiet voice emerged, "Le fael."

Remee paused, "Elvish, Ranger? Ah! Are you a Tatharion? Such an accent, though. And, you're welcome. Gi nathlam hi. My pronunciation isn't as fine as yours. Does it make sense to you, friend?"

"Yes. Thank you for your welcome. I am Ewon Galuion. I kindly ask you to stand aside for me and that you do not create any disturbance. Friend Lusis is in adversity this sad night." He gave a polite elven incline of the head. It was flawless politesse and would have flattered any other elf.

"Oh, he is fancy, this Ranger." Conach muttered from not far enough behind. "Not too fancy to be far too friendly with my sister. Do you damage her reputation? Answer me, man." He reached for Ewon's broad shoulder.

Ewon turned out from under that grip and inclined himself toward Conach, "Leave me."

Lusis hurried to try to insert herself between brothers and the Silvan elf Elite. She might have said something to mollify them all, but was struck silent instead.

The elf in spotless blue with whirling silver flurries along his cloak now stopped in an intersection of firelight. His long arms rose. She knew his moonstone ring on sight. His long fingers folded back his hood. Silence fell around him. It spread through the large hall like smoke. Firelight tangled in his unbound hair, and fell upon his silvery skin and eyes.

Here was the one she sorely missed.

Lusis struggled to process his presence.

No crown. Fair hair undone. One guard.

His voice was deep, crisp as lake-ice, and round with authority. It stopped all motion in the room. "What he kindly asks, I insist upon. Leave him." The Elvenking's head rose. Firelight caught his curving elven ear through strands of hair. The Great Hall backed away from the silken vision that he cut. The King glowed in the low light, as if all the firelight in the room had rushed to touch him.

There was a clear path for Lusis to reach the Elfking. She folded her arms against her ribs because she knew, given the fuss with Ewon, that she couldn't risk even accidentally touching the King. But she couldn't look away from his silver-white eyes. He was here. He was real. Where was his regalia? "Good elves, welcome to Buckmaster Keep on the mountains. We do not see the like this far North. Please forgive the… surprise. Ask anything of us, and it will be seen to, I assure you of that." Then she bowed to him.

She had no idea the Elfking's uncaring eyes followed the threads of gold that had lately been appearing in her hair, with a great deal of concentration, in fact. But then, he was very accomplished at seeming disinterested in the things that most held his attention.

His words were soft, "Your power is growing."

Lusis straightened and shook her head minutely. It was not safe to discuss, for one thing, and for another, her training with Radagast had been an utter failure. He'd told her she was too human. Too close to the world. Yet, too young.

She read this to mean that she was a hopeless case.

He pulled in a breath and maintained his patience. "I know you, Lusis Buckmaster… have you been here these many months?"

"Several of them, good-elf, and not in the forest or Long Lake," she told him. Careful about how she spoke to him, seeing as he wore no outward sign of Kingship, and didn't even seem to have his sword with him. Somewhere, Eithahawn was waking up from a nightmare.

As if elves could sleep.

"You are called the Couriers of the North," he said carefully. "There is one who might have expected a message."

That would be him. He was protective of the new Istari he'd found.

"Events overtook me," she inclined herself to him, unwilling to call him King when he wore neither the Living Crown nor the Warrior's Circlet. She wouldn't put him at risk. But, oh, she knew he must have been enjoying having his hair out free. It cared for nothing. It was a white-blond cascade that fell from its tucks behind his tall, pale ears, spontaneously beautiful.

Ewon's fingers had to be itching to bind it all up and put a crown on it to pin it down again.

That was because Thranduil Oropherion was the Elfking of Mirkwood, she and Redd had guessed, for over 70 centuries now. Maybe twice that. Or more. His head tipped to the position it used when he was angry but also controlling it. His long pale hair slipped over his shoulder. There was no other sign of temper, but she knew the sharpness of that one motion meant anger. His voice was perfectly moderate. "Perhaps I should apologize for the inconvenience of our presence here."

If he left the place where her eyes could see right now, she would chase him. She wasn't sure what she would do when she got to him. But she needed his strength, the permanence he embodied, unbending as the Lonely Mountain, no less than she ever had. And she just looked at him with her insides twisting in agony.

And he went silent, as if, standing at a mirror, he'd heard a whisper. Then his golden head turned to look upward. "There is a change…."

A muffled cry sounded. Lusis turned from him. A trio of Rangers stood at the upstairs rails and spread a black cloth over the railing. It was emblazoned with seven stars and a pair of crossed white antlers – the flag of the Buckmasters, but on a field of black, rather than blue. She made a small choked sound, and couldn't remember anything clearly after that moment. She only knew she had torn from the room and charged up the stairs. Weeping members of the Keep's staff flattened to the walls as the Buckmaster children made for the dying room.

Their mother was already at bedside in the huge and fire-lit space. She'd crumpled against the pillows where her husband breathed no more.

She knelt on the floor beside her father's hand. It had gone as cold as the weather. And all she could think of was how many times she'd tried to run away from the family she didn't understand, the rules she'd never before had, and the threat that kindness posed to her ability to survive, and he'd come and found her, small and struggling in the wild, and then carried her all the way back to the warm fireside. "Ada."

Mellona straightened and wiped her tears. "Downstairs lads. His brothers and I need to get him ready for tomorrow." She glanced at Lusis' dazed young face – she was the only one of the children whose expression was disconnected. "Elsenord, Remee, take Lusis with you and get her warm." She reached out and smoothed her daughter's lightening hair. Lusis had no awareness of the contact.

She went with them because they took her, and there was nothing left for her to do. As soon as she entered the whispery downstairs, she found Redd standing, twisting and untwisting his black cloak in his hands, wracked with sadness on her behalf, when she… she was deadened. Aric and Icar extended their hands to her shoulders, and one of them smoothed her hair like the back of a cat. She nodded at them, turned, and saw the Elfking standing quietly. His hands were joined before him.

She continued in his direction and he gently opened his arms. His golden head bent to her, "Goheno nin, Lusis-sell. I am-"

Yes-yes. She didn't even break stride. Lusis walked straight into him. She pushed her face into the chest of his cloak and the smell of the woods. It vaguely terrified her that he wore no elf-steel underneath. She wrapped her arms around the shape of his solidity. Lusis could feel him being startled by this. But he settled quickly. Then a hand curled around the back of her neck. Another stopped between her shoulder blades. As long as she stayed there, she felt sure nothing else that was bad could happen to her.

His voice rumbled under her ear, speaking Elvish to Ewon.

The Elite's hand curled around her shoulder. "We are beside you, little one," he said.

It was ironic seeing as she was focusing very hard, at that moment, on removing herself. Erasing herself. On being aware of nothing but the smell of the forest, and the warmth of the furnace beneath her cheek. Until her consciousness waned down to the slow throbbing sound that was his heart.

And shortly after that, there was only the darkness of the void.

A thick blanket of snow blotted out the world. It came on like a downpour of forgetfulness, for days, and all who had sheltered in Buckmaster Spur were sealed in by the climate and the gloom.

Lusis spent those days in the shelter of Ewon and the Elfking.

They were stalwart. The King was unrelenting. And she was enervated. The death of her father had made her as insubstantial as puffs of smoke from a Ranger's pipe.

At night, the Elfking would pace in her cramped little room, his motions as silent as settling snowflakes. And she didn't care.

On the third night, Lusis was more aware of her surrounds and she watched him, aware he was flagging. And so was gentle Ewon who, every night, stood outside the narrow door and guarded them both. Ewon did poorly with the press of unfamiliar human lives, human cares, all around him. The King carried this weight as well, sealed inside a human town, in a Keep built and meant for the comfort of humans. The lack of solitude drove them both to distraction. There was weeping in public. There was a constant stream of drinking, shouting, singing, and fighting in the Great Hall as the Rangers mourned. And even the baths were public. This was not their world, and they were thrust into it, to endure it, until it was difficult for them to imagine any of these Men had even a speck of elven blood inside. Lusis didn't know about this. She'd been deep in the woods inside her head, chasing her father's long shadow into the setting sun. Never getting closer.

But the shadow that fell across her, now, was the shadow of a King.

A neglected King.

She felt heavy. Groggy. Like waking from a sleeping draught. Lusis edged far enough to one side of the bed to make room for him. The proud Elfking saw this with an air of resistance, nearly furious, and he went back to pacing.

She opened her eyes again.

"What time is it?"

The King leaned to the tapestry beneath the tiny square of window. His head rose slowly, "Small hours." He stretched his neck one graceful direction and then the other. His throat was unbuttoned to his upper chest.

She sat up and stared at his skin, and then felt ashamed of herself and rubbed her cheek.

There were cuts that never healed. She had one of those now. How many did he have, her King? And poor Ewon, not even allowed inside the door. What about her troop? Where were they right now?

"Fires." She rubbed her forehead. "What has mother been giving me?"

"No," the King said softly. "I asked you to rest and heal, to accept, and that is what you did."

Her father was gone from these shores. She put her head down and fought not to weep.

After a moment he told her, "When she left us… Legolas also wept in his sleep."

She sucked an unsteady breath. "What about you?"

He paused and then said, "How would I know? There was no one there."

Of a sudden, a great wave of love broke over her, for her King, for Ewon, and for her troop somewhere hereabouts, all of them there for her. She was not alone.

She looked up at the pale King.

He had been.

It would be a long time before that weighty thought left her.

But for now, she stood up, determined to turn the tables. Determined to attend to him.

For days, he'd practically salted a circle around her. Ugly politics boiled in and around the Buckmaster Keep. She knew her own grace period would falter eventually and she would be called upon to take sides, or answer questions.

It could wait on his comfort. "Come with me?"

"Out there?" He set his teeth and sounded frustrated.

"My King," she stepped toward him, "I know this Keep like a maggot knows its piece of meat."

He showed his lowered lashes and beautiful profile to her. "Ghastly."

Lusis resisted the urge to smile – the gods only knew why. It felt like she hadn't smiled in months. "I know the back ways to the bath-house and the place will be empty at this hour." She felt her own hair and pulled a face. "Misery has made a filthy mess out of me." Forget laying on the bed to rest beside her, it was a wonder he was anywhere near her at all.

"Despair can kill an elf," he looked down and exhaled suddenly. "I wondered if you might speak again, Lusis Buckmaster. Breathe again, between breaths. I wondered if you might choose to follow your father. The wait has been difficult."

She bet. He wasn't known for his great excess of comforting emotion, King Thranduil.

"I have an idea." She told him quietly. "It involves a long, hot, milk bath."

The King turned his most virtuous face to her. And waited.

"For you," she added onto the end of that. "You, my King." Her face flamed.

She turned and went to the door, aware, and annoyed, she'd been so clumsy.

Lusis startled Ewon when she yanked the door open. He stopped aiming fighting knives at the bare walls, and looked down at her. "Welcome back to us, friend-Lusis. To see you is a relief."

"I'm a mess."

"A living, breathing mess." He told her warmly. "Easier to clean up than an airless, rotting one."

She glanced back at the King. "This is where you should say ghastly."

"She has a plan." The King said instead. "Hear her out."

"Please come in from the hall and wait with the King. I need my Rangers for this."

Ewon stepped inside her room, a place he hadn't yet been. "What are you about, friend?"

"I'm tired of being filthy," she told him and shut the door.

She edged to the end of the passageway. There was a general room there where she'd put Redd, Icar, and Aric. She hoped they'd retained it, even with the pressure to house people these days, and drummed her fingertips on the door a few times. Shortly, the door eased open. Redd peered out at her. "Stars, thank the gods, you're back." He reached out the door and hugged her.

Lusis hugged him back. She reached her hand out to Aric, and gripped him tightly.

"I'm so sorry, Lus," Icar's hand closed around his brother's and her own.

"I know, you nits. Open the door and let me through?" she swallowed back emotion. "He's here."

Redd stepped aside to let her into the scant space, "I know. By gods. He carries no sign of who he is. Ewon calls him taur – one of the elf words for King. I think they take it as his name."

"He's here in secret," Icar nodded knowingly.

Aric sat back on one of the two cots in the room. Redd was too big for either, which explained the long padded horse-blankets on the floor at the end of the cots. "Problem is there's not a lot of graze for either of them here… and, though Ewon put in coins, your stingy kin doesn't seem eager to feed them. I've been stealing bread and butter at night."

She gawped at him. "Are he and Ewon going hungry?"

"Aye," Aric said.

Icar added, "I can't think of a worse fit for a pair of elves than a human Keep in the midst of waking. I believe solitude is important to their wellbeing." He glanced at Redd and his brother. "When they are outside of your room one of us is with them. There is… there's hostility for them here."

"No," Lusis denied this. "This Keep was established by the blood of elves and Men – Dunedain."

"Oh, horse piss on that. You don't know the half of it, Chief." Aric said quietly. "A pair of your brothers nearly came to blows with Ewon earlier tonight. He went for food and water. Have you ever heard of such bad hospitality? These are Dunedain Men to elves – the blood of their ancestor-kin. Or they claim to be Dunedain – I don't believe it." He pulled a face in disgust and leaned on his sheathed sword. "If it wasn't for you, they'd be ruined."

"I can't deal with… such stories, right now. I can hardly believe them, apart from the fact that it's my troop telling me. But it must wait for dawn and life in the Hall. We need to get through this, get them through it, bit by bit," she exhaled and said, "Let's focus on the now. They need our hospitality tonight."

Aric smiled up at his brother. "Yes, she's back."

She felt as if she was. Lusis felt stronger with her troop around her, and with her elves. She was more herself when she had someone to fight for. "We're going to the bathhouse and back. We'll go by the kitchen and root pantry and take what we need."

"It's not safe for them to move around the Keep anymore," Redd warned. "Something is afoot around here, Lusis. I don't know what it is. I can't even get audience with Ragnar – my uncle. We need to look to the foothills and Tatharion house."

"He's right. We need to leave. They'll shelter us there, Man and elf," Icar said confidentially. He set aside his sketchbook and picked up his sword. It rankled her that the boys were all cleaner than she was. They'd all been much dirtier than this in the wilds.

She shook her head, "No, I've never known Rangers to resent elves before."

"That's the feeling of it," Redd confirmed. "Maybe your family thinks they are intruding?"

"No excuses," she told him coldly. "And no time. Bathhouse. Supplies. Rest. And we get them down the mountain. Pack up. As I'll pack up."

"They won't make it simple, Lus," Icar pulled on his overcoat and bent to tie up his boots. "But let's start with the bathhouse. The King's been as patient as he can be."

"Meaning, not very patient," Aric chuckled gleefully. "Ewon's confined him to quarters."

The Rangers stretched and armed themselves. It wouldn't look unusual. Rangers didn't go anywhere without at least one sword. They opened the door to her room and found Ewon in conversation with the pacing King in the upstairs hall. They were speaking quietly, and only occasionally, in Elvish. The King glanced over the Rangers.

"Pacing," Lusis said quietly. "He paces day and night."

Icar glanced at her when she said it.

Lusis stared around the darkened upstairs, and, on her right at the end of the hallway, the wide open space of the main room below. The fires were low. Travelers slept against the walls and on the benches, some of them on the tables, wrapped up in wool.

Now was the time for the elves.

If anyone made a sound in the servant's quarters, it was the Rangers. The elves were like the fleece of nighttime clouds. They could have escaped this house days ago, but for their loyal natures.

Lusis had wondered if it wouldn't be wiser for them to leave that night, in fact. But she could feel the Keep buffet in a storm. She could hear the roar of wind at every wall and shuttered window. By the grace of fire and shelter, alone, did Men live this night, and she wouldn't turn elves out into that. Instead, she offered them goblets of heated and spiced milk from the kitchen, and nut-paste on thick slabs of toasted bread. She also gave them a plate of fire-baked golden beet and sweet potato, all of which she'd scavenged from the kitchen – still warm from the staff making it. No one went hungry in this Keep. It was an affront to her father's, and her own pride.

Heated water in the bathhouse was accomplished by plunging bricks into large, burning braziers and then inserting those bricks into steel tubs of water. The water vats were not, themselves, heated, as in Mirkwood. The fires had banked for the night, but they never really cooled. Lusis poked the flames alive as she entered. The King stretched his long arms before him, not nearly as confined in the spacious dimness of the bathhouse. Redd brought in the tray of food and set it on low tables beside the tubs at the far end of the room. He went to stand at the door to bar all passage. Aric and Icar were posted on either side of the corridor.

"Your family is in a kind of strife," the King spoke quietly when he knew they were alone. "There seems to be a struggle for ascendency underway. We must be clear of here soon, Lusis. I advise that you come with me."

She'd felt the conflict under the skin of the Keep since she'd come home, and Lusis knew it held nothing good for her. She was, in many ways, nearly unprotected now that her father was gone. Mellona was not like Ona had been. Mellona wasn't a Dunedain. She'd have next to no say in the matter. "I know you're right. But we're snowed in right now. Do you know what a white-out is?"

He closed his eyes and drew a steadying breath.

So he did. Lusis nodded, "One thing at a time, my King."

"Patience," he said tightly and then sighed, "They haven't worked out who I am. I… had wondered if they might. But Men are so fleeting. The few this way who would have known me, Ewon found their names written upon stones."

She took a brick from the fire with prongs and set it into a tub. The water reacted violently, hissing and boiling, shooting jets of steam up around them. She smiled. Lusis loved a hot bath, then she looked aside at the tall Elfking. "When was Ewon outside?"

"Hours before we came in," the Elfking brushed the bathwater with his fingertips. "And we have learned that the Keep has decided I am a master of some art, and that he is my apprentice. Presented with a question, Men create their own answers. It is good because there is conflict brewing here."

"Why you'd come here," she frowned at him, "why so unprotected?"

"Ewon did not believe he would be enough to convince you to return." The Elfking stopped to look at her. His head tilted a little, paused, and reversed before he could reveal too much feeling.

"He would've," she told him. "He would've been enough."

Nothing for a moment. The Elfking's long eyes blinked a staccato. He turned and walked away to look at the steel braziers, "I see."

She wasn't sure what had just happened, but she followed him. "Not very comfortable, these tubs. They're not built for you." She glanced over the nearest steel tubs. He was unlikely to fit into any of the older ones. She'd set him up in the sheltered corner among the bright tubs that would fit someone goliath, like Redd Ayesir. These were for the Buckmasters. A covered bowl of milk powder sat beside the last tub in line. That was an indulgence of their mother's, but the sight of it lifted the King's shoulders and made him sigh. The bath next to it, which she'd just prepared, was for rinsing.

It was a touch of civilization in the wilderness.

She filled a steel tub for herself, wrapped the brick in cloth, and put it into her bathwater. She wasn't tired, but worn. Both the King and Ewon had bathed and dressed, and she was still asleep with her wet head pillowed on a bath-sheet in her little corner of the High North. The wind, the buffeting against the Keep, the maelstrom was her lullaby.

"Lusis," Redd looked away from Ewon's quick and nimble hair-braiding and glanced over his shoulder at the bathhouse. "It's closing on four in the morning, girl."

She swore and crawled out of the bathtub into a long bathing sheet.

She minced upstairs to dress in her room and to pack her things. She took out the silver and pearl chain the Elvenking had given her. He'd never even asked after it, let alone had taken it back, yet she knew it was of great value to him, she realized, as she pocketed it.

The Elves were also preparing to leave the High North, only they acted as if there would be nothing more to it than to go out the front gates and walk down the mountain in a blinding blizzard so cold that the water in the eyes would freeze in seconds. Yet, for them, it was probably very much the case that a descent would pose only discomfort, not a mortal danger. Lusis wasn't sure she should protest, or debate it. But she could only head out with her troop when the passes were declared safe for traffic. The more important thing here, she decided, was to trust the King above the weather and let him have his head. She needed to get him safely to the foothills. She could tell him how to reach the Tatharions. As their name suggested, they were more elf-blooded than the Buckmaster line.

Lusis had dressed and just made her bed when the King came back inside.

He simply stated, "Men are about."

She waved at the shutting door, "No. Ewon, you come in too."

The King watched this keenly. The Elite elf eased the door shut behind him, very grateful to be away from the humans at last. He leaned against the thick wood door, head low, hand over his chest, momentarily vulnerable. It was only then that Lusis understood how taxing the Keep had become for them. She couldn't fault them. She no longer knew what was happening in her home, just that she wanted them spared from it.

But she couldn't have solved the problem overnight, even if she'd known what it was. She lowered the flame on the lamp. The room was very dim. "Rest," she told them, and then added a quick, "please rest, dear friends – the house is awake now." The window for taking them down the mountain passed with the movement of Men inside the Keep.

Although it was unlikely they'd both fit on the bed together, they were so substantial.

Lusis hurriedly brought in a padded chair. It fit in the corner of her room under the small square of window. She was unsurprised to see that the Elfking went to it. He was too much elf for the bed. He wrapped in the wolf-pelt she brought, leaned his silver head against the forest tapestry and blowing wind beyond, and his eyelids sank low. He was unresponsive within minutes. She lay on the edge of the bed beside Ewon, because he moved clear to give her space.

She could see his long storm-cloud eyes in the low light. "Rest, elvellon." He sounded faraway. His words were soft, and longer than they should have been. He'd been awake since he'd arrived here and on the advent of rest – with her troop guarding the hall beyond the door – his Westron bled into an elvish inflection.

She smoothed his hair back so that it wouldn't get caught under her shoulders, and found it was downy and soft, along with being the colour of dark chocolate – stuff she'd first seen at Jan Kasia's house in Lake Township. She smiled at him. "You first, my friend."

When he was drifting, she got up to check the outside. Aric sat beside the door. "Don't do anything I wouldn't in there, Chief." He said quietly.

"You'd find a way to get arrested," she sighed and locked the door. She settled beside the old elf again, finally at peace. He was solidly in that removed place where elves went. He curled slowly to rest his forehead against her shoulder. His legs pulled up.

Lusis imagined a time when, somehow, she would have a home of her own. She decided she would need to outfit half the cells with beds that allowed for curling room. She'd honestly never seen a resting elf who didn't curl up like a fawn.

The bedroom smelled of soap, trees, and pine needles.

Time fell away from her. She passed over the landscape of Mirkwood and was blown through the beauty of the Halls like a windswept bird. She spun through a cloud of yellow-winged butterflies. They behaved like they were cut out of sunshine, clustered around pale cherry blossoms. And she drifted into the broad valley at the center of the Halls. A thought breathed over her.

Gwilwileth, Lusis-gwend. Butterfly.

She saw an image of tree tops that suddenly exploded into blue butterflies.

It was so gorgeous it felt as though everything in her brain seemed to loosen at once.

She sighed and tipped back in air, weightless in the middle of the Elvenking's Halls.

Gwilwileth.

At when she woke, Lusis crept away from the Mirkwood elves still adrift in her room. She made her way down the muffled upper hall. Several of her brothers were two to a room here. She had set her sights on Elsenord as being the best candidate for what she was about to say. He wasn't very much older than she was, so he understood and felt close to her, but, in terms of maturity, he was often more adult than Remee. When she stepped in, she saw him. He sank down in a wooden chair at the freestanding table in the middle of the rug. Sitting with him was grinning middle-child, Lonnan, and the last born, and merriest of Ona's children, Remee. If Tiranord had been there with Irin, she would have had her truest brothers all gathered in one place.

Remee's hands swept over his face. "Merciful gods. Lusis. For days you've been looking through faces like you don't know who we are." His hands shook when he hugged her. "You're here again."

She squeezed his shoulder, and tugged his blond, braided hair before she went to the remaining chair at the table and slid into it. "I wish Tira and Irin were here."

"Wall duty." Elsenord said to her, and he added, "You're… you're ready to talk. I can tell."

Lonnan stopped cutting apples for breakfast. There was a large pile of them on a dish he nudged her way. She took one and munched it. Elsenord pushed the entire plate in her direction.

Easing back in his chair, Lonnan exhaled, "You've been asleep for days, little light." He used the nickname his father had always used for Lusis, and blinked away his strong emotion. "Praise the stars you're up and among us again. It felt like we lost you both."

Remee patted his younger brother's shoulder.

"I thought it might be Kirstman's doing," Elsenord set his head in his hands a moment. "Maybe Armul – he and Kirstman are practically twins."

"More like a two-headed monster," Remee said of his full brothers. He shook his head in regret.

But Elsenord didn't disagree. He exhaled and took her in a moment. "You've had us worried."

Lusis blinked at them. "That… is strange to say. But the duration of my sleep had nothing to do with any of you. It was the – my elf companions. They worried. They wanted me to heal." She did feel stronger now. She'd felt like she might have cast half a shadow for months now.

Lonnan sat up straight, "Magic?"

"I suppose…" she said. Really, she'd had many conversations with Radagast about why most elves distinctly did not do magic. Instead, they used a combination of celestial and spiritual power that worked in a way that was officially Impossible to Explain to Another Living Soul – and that was after Radagast resorted to drawings. She was the one who was supposed to have, and use, magic. Which she'd explained to him was ludicrous. No drawings needed.

Her brothers looked at one another. "They do magic?"

"I wouldn't call it that, but… they can use their will, and… their purity of spirit to make a beneficial change in others. Like when they heal."

"They heal?" Remee gasped, he looked aside at Lonnan. "They heal people."

Elsenord continued rubbing his forehead. "Find your center, big brother." And Remee smiled cockily down at him from his side of the table.

"No it's okay." Lusis had to get comfortable with the idea of talking about this sort of thing with them. So she summarized everything she'd learned about elf magic in that single line: "Magic is… something… that can be used aggressively. This wasn't an aggressive thing. So it could be magic. It could be… elves being elves. They are beautiful creatures. But they have their moods." She rubbed the back of her head only perfectly certain she was right about that last part.

"Are you healed?" Elsenord asked.

She ate an apple slice and admitted, "I'm doing better. Are you all right? Is mother?"

"We will be," Lonnan took his eyes off his sleeve and assured her. He'd always been prone to strong emotion, Lonn. She remembered some tremendous brawls his outrage had caused. If anyone was likely to climb a mountain in his sock-feet just to whack Kirstman in the head, it was Lonnan.

He nodded at her now. "Why are you friends with elves, Lus?"

"It's a long story." The apples were tasting good, even though she knew they had come from being frozen solid in the root cellar. She'd packed two dozen away for the elves. But the Buckmasters could afford fripperies like apples in the heart of winter, even a massive plate of them. "Why don't you tell me why it's a problem to have them, and I'll tell you why they're here."

No one spoke.

"I think you accused Kirst and Armul of drugging me." Lusis pointed out. "Ona's kids have always had their issues with me-"

"Us."

"Okay, with us, Elsenord. Remee, you excepted-"

Her blond brother gave an officious bow and whirl of his fingertips.

"But they've never gone mad before." Lusis knotted her worried fingers on the table before her. "We are… relentless guides, trained warriors from childhood, and souls so honed to the land that we are unshakable messengers of the North. This is Buckmaster Keep… and they won't feed elves? What's happening to us?"

"Said elves are living in your room, little light," Remee said delicately. "You understand that is a little… disconcerting."

But Elsenord rejected this, "Those two can't have a room of their own. We tried that. There was a sword fight in the hallway one night, and, by morning, Durry and Conach were having them sealed in."

Lusis cocked her head. "What?"

"They nailed the door shut."

On the King.

"These differences between us… they're coming to a head now, Lusis. Sometimes I believe there will be war in this house. Blonds to brunets. Ona's children to Mellona's. And you've been gone a long time. You don't know how serious Kirstman is about these things, about his power here, our lofty name, having allies, and ruling the land. The Garrison family has every right to have a difference of opinion with them. They've been here as long as we have. They were half-elven brother and sister when they came to this mountain. Remee's the only one of the first five – of Ona's children – who stands with us."

"You're welcome," Remee sighed and leaned back in his chair.

"Shut up you great dandy," Lonnan clucked his tongue at his older brother, and then grinned.

"This is about power in the land, then," Lusis said. "And…? And what? We don't have enough?"

Elsenord sighed, "We don't want change, Lusis. We don't need a Kingdom. We are…" he opened his hands, "simple, humble, messenger men, and our world is one of deliverance."

"I'm not humble."

And Elsenord nodded in agreement, "Shut up, Remee."

For a moment, it was impossible for her to react. "Are you saying… he wants a crown?" She shook her head at the thought. "We're common men. Even the elf-blood is quiet in us. We do our jobs. We do them better than any other boot-heel in the North. We're not…" she groped for words, "we're not Strider."

"Tell him so," Lonnan leaned his elbows on the table and frowned at the apples. "I miss father. He would have slapped the utter tosspot out of Kirstman. Enough of his foolishness."

Lusis bared her teeth. "I may have someone for that." Her hands had curled into fists.

"You?" Remee clapped a hand on the table. "That's a cause I could back. Of course you'd have to succeed where the rest of us have failed. To slap some sense into him, I mean. You'd have to get through his Loyals now. He has a steadfast circle of Men from all over the North, as far as the Dagnir-Rim and all the way back."

"I have something you don't have," she said without thinking, and then equivocated. The worst part of being what she was had to be not being good at it. Or, no, she found something more terrible still: having everyone else but you believe in it. She switched gears and said, "I have elves."

"Well, you have two, anyway." Remee agreed and added a delicate, "In your bedroom."

Lonnan couldn't quite hide his frown, "About that. Who the Fires are they? What are they doing in your room at night?"

"They're pretty, particularly the tall blond one – he's outstanding," said Remee. "I don't suppose that they're together."

"You didn't make it safe for them to be anywhere else but in my room." She sighed. "Since when is this our hospitality? These are my friends."

Lonnan asked, "If we start guarding them, you'd move them out?"

"If you and my troop did," she admitted. "Instead of just my troop alone, I suspect. And the elves had a haven. Something good. Not the closet I'm in." She scratched her cheek. "I… I might sleep across the door to safeguard them."

Now Remee chuckled and clicked the leg of her chair, "Her room could fit in a tea cozy. It's probably full with just the big blond in there. He's a tall lad."

A tall lad. Lusis' eyes opened wide a moment.

"Maybe we could muzzle him?" Lonnan ate a fistful of apple and stared at Remee as if he was actually designing a big-brother muzzle as he chewed.

"People don't have friends who are elves by chance, Lusis. There aren't that many to be had to begin with, and those who remain seclude themselves and disavow Men."

"You sound… angry." Lusis told Elsenord.

Her brother shrugged. "We Rangers are aware that all the evils of the world have not withdrawn from it because the One Ring is gone – that is forever constant. Instead, it's the wholesome power of the elves that is withdrawing."

She glanced at her brothers' faces.

Leaning to the table to join them, Lonnan twiddled together his guilty thumbs and confessed, "They are more than stewards of the land. I think they do not understand the political instability that they leave in their wake. They are like the pillars of the earth, Lusis. Our ultimate arbiters, here. They built the peace, they defend the woods, and they are sentries over rivers and dells. Our peacemakers are leaving without a backward glance. And we cannot follow them, as certain of us are wont to do."

"Men are torn. Your friends are not safe in this Keep. And can we get back to the fact you're a young woman and there are two men in your bedroom? Elves or not, they're men." Remee nodded at the apples. "And I've told you many, many times that men are dodgy sorts."

"I'd be all right, Elsenord, if you stuffed a sock in Remee's mouth." Lusis said.

"I wouldn't want to soil my hosiery," said Else. "Who knows where that mouth's been?"

Lonnan chuckled and threw some apple slices into Remee's much celebrated golden hair.

"Elves." Lusis sat back and thought to the first day she'd woken up under Radagast's roof. She'd sat at his wood table with his animal menagerie around her. And he'd looked up from his bowl of milk to tell her, 'Elves. Elves and men are siblings. The elves were born first. In their construction they are made to stand beside Men… and Men to stand beside them. Elves and Men are compliments. Timeless? Mortal. Celestial? Earthly. Burning steady? Volatile. And you are like I am. You can see the flame of them all. They are so very' – he'd sat up, and the golden-brown star of light embedded in his chest had made her gasp – 'beautiful. Who better to entrust with the world'?

And as they departed, they expected Men to be content with it.

The Buckmaster boys at the table had fallen silent. They were watching the unfamiliar light of tenderness warm her smile and dark eyes. She was thinking: Such impractical, romantic notions among those tall-eared halfwits. But she loved the elves. It was in her bones.

But then Lusis sighed and added. "Man is about to lose… that touch of the divine. By that I mean, their touch. The elves. Their cultures are like mother and father, both. The dwarves use their writing, as do we. We fell from their language. They've rushed in to save us since… always. I can see why there would be resentments. But it's time to grow up," she remembered a dread she'd had when the Lammia had been defeated and she'd realized that her King was urging her to go to Radagast the Brown. "Even if, when they go, they suck all the wonder out of the world. Then the bees are just what they are, and the cherry blossoms too. They won't be dance-partners for someone's long fair hair."

Elsenord said, "There is something to be said for cherry blossoms, Lusis. And bees. These are things that, on their own, are beautiful, and should be appreciated for themselves."

"I know that," she told him. "It's a pity that humanity can't figure that out."

"Kirstman would never admit to such deep feelings." Remee said. Like all the others assembled there, he'd just lost his father. The idea of losing the elves was too much for him to dwell on. "But he is angry, Lusis. He is very angry. I'm afraid he's not alone in that."

Elsenord tapped the table with his index finger, "And, coming or going, they need to be out of your bedroom. We know their virtue – gods, we'd never doubt yours – but it puts the family on edge. Mother's going to have fits if it keeps up now that you're awake."

"Yes, I know." Lusis said.

Then Remee said, "Then fine. Your pretty elf friends are here. Why?"

Because they've given up on protecting the Woodland Realm with jewels and King's Light, now they know I'm a wizard.

That would not settle their qualms any. It sure as fires didn't settle hers.

She looked around the table. "This can go no further than this room. We can't tell Irin. He's a chatterbox. Tiranord either. He's never kept a secret from Irin in his entire life. And you have to swear to be quiet about this as well. Lives could be lost."

"Tell us, sister," Elsenord, his voice a bit pinched with worry, now opened his hands on the table. "We've always stood beside you."

And that was the truth.

She nodded at them. "I came to work with them a short time ago. The elves see something in me – something I do not. They are convinced of my importance."

"Good," said Remee with a satisfied nod. "That's a good start, anyway. No one saw anything in that little Hobbit boy either, I'm sure."

"Not so," Elsenord said, "the wizard Gandalf did. It is a matter of record in Gondor."

Lusis tried to ignore the fact that wizarding elite had come up in the conversation, and here she was, the underachiever of the lot. She cleared her throat. "The tall, blond elf, he is from the Halls of the Elvenking. And I promise you that if Kirst lays a hand on him… our Keep will burn to the last stick and Buckmaster Spur will be erased from the mountain. Because he is the Elvenking."

There was nothing for a moment.

She asked, "Do you understand me?"

Remee laughed and hugged his ribs. Her remaining brothers just stared at her. Elsenord, particularly, seemed shocked at the implication there was no punchline. But he couldn't bring himself to laugh because her face was so grave.

Elsenord's voice sounded pallid. "Lusis, my sister, who… whose word do you have for this?" He spoke gently as if reluctant to tell her she'd been deceived.

"I've been there," she told them. "I walked to Mirkwood. I lived through something fell and went into the Halls for help. The Elvenking felt pity. He helped me. He's sure I'm of some importance, Elsenord." She sucked in a shaky breath, "He's, uh, very sure."

"And you," Remee nodded at her, certain of one thing, "You're sure you're not. How could you be?" He didn't need to add anything more. Her brothers knew a secret of Lusis. She'd been left for dead as an infant, exposed in a pile of rocks along with several other babies. This had happened on the edges of Angmar territory, and she could not forgive herself for that possible taint. She missed the fact her fierce heart had survived what had killed the rest.

She shook fragility aside and squared up. "If we want an Eldar to stand with us… he's the one. He rode up to Long Lake and claimed the land there. You should know that we brought in Rangers and they opposed him, at first – though their rudeness makes more sense in light of what you've told me. But the Elfking showed restraint, and now the Kingdom pays those Rangers their keep. We can fix this. It's the truth."

"Kirstman would ask how long it will be before he runs out on us too." Lonnan got up to push back the draperies at the window and look at the smudge of colour that was the sun behind the snowfall.

"If that's what you're afraid of… ask him." Lusis said. She was suddenly afraid of the answer. "He's just doors down, being harassed by the same people who want his power to protect them. The same people who want to adore him." It was insane.

Lonnan exhaled and opened his hands, "Elfking. And you believe him?"

Lusis' eyes narrowed, "Lonnan, I stood in the Great Hall in the Woodland Realm and saw-"

The commotion in the upstairs interrupted Lusis.

Angry shouts. One guess who that would be.

"Fires," Lusis knocked over her chair on the way to the door, and nearly jammed the frame trying to get through it with Elsenord. She shoved him back at Lonnan and shot past, immediately horrified to see Kirstmen and several of his closest Ranger brethren, at the open door of her room. One of them had dragged out Ewon by the front of his green shirt. The Elite's arms were open, his hands ready, but empty. The elf's expression was even.

Lusis drew her sword first. "What are you doing to the guests of this house, Kirstman?" She strode toward him.

"You have no more say in this, Lusis. Considering this mortification to our name is your fault." her brother snapped and caught a fistful of Ewon's shirt in his fist. "I've decided they must leave this place. And do your already soiled reputation no more damage."

"Into the teeth of this storm?" she barked at him. "Have we ever done that?"

"I've never had as strong a need before." He swung around and his dark blond hair fanned around him. "And since you cannot contain yourself, I'll put them out without even the cloaks they came in with. I'm tired of your impertinence."

"Fine." Lusis gasped and lowered her swords. She hoped to encourage him to remain calm, seeing as she thought he was no longer in his right mind. "Let them collect their things, resupply, and go." She backed a few steps away and aside, so that she could see Ewon's calm, still face. His eyes never strayed to her. They never left the Man who had hold of his clothes.

"No," Kirstman shook the elf at the end of his hand. "They go out into the weather, right. Now. Everything that they brought remains with us, and they take nothing from our community. I want them to vanish."

Around Lusis in the quickly filling hallway, there was a rumble of concern. Northern Keeps didn't operate this way, and travelers were seeing their own sorry fates before their eyes should they somehow prod Kirstman Buckmaster's ire.

"You can't put him out in the storm, good Buckmaster!" Someone cried.

"What's a storm to an almighty elf?" scoffed Kirstman, and then he growled down into Ewon's face, "Or that's what they say."

As if summoned by threat of violence, the King leaned in Lusis' doorway. He looked calm, but it was clear in the way his head dropped to one side that he was running out of patience.

"Then let him go. Let him leave," Lusis tucked her sword away and gestured at Ewon with her open hand. "Leave this place." Her insides twisted at the idea of her good friend, whom she'd fought shoulder-to-shoulder with in Lake Township, facing the killing cold without as much as a cloak.

The King stepped out beyond where Redd stood blocking the door. Redd's eyes widened.

"Oh no," murmured Lonnan. Things began to move very quickly.

Lusis flexed her knees and rushed forward.

The Buckmaster boys surged up the wood flooring behind her.

Kirstman began to turn, and Redd began to block for the King.

But Ewon was closest. His palm shot upward and with a tap of an open hand he disarmed Kirstman and took the knife. He swiveled up to the wood railing, darted up to the rafters, and was back in the corridor. It seemed one single motion, and so fast most people hadn't had a chance to move.

Ewon fell in beside Redd and before the King, now armed.

The Elfking stepped up and extended a hand to Ewon. The Elite handed over the knife and bowed. The King passed it back to Kirstman with a cold admonition. "If you persist in waving these at people, Kirstman Buckmaster, you will be injured." He glanced over his shoulder at Redd and the Ranger followed the Elfking to Lusis and Ewon.

"Where are Aric and Icar?" she muttered to Redd.

"Downstairs getting supplies for," and Redd jerked his head at the Elfking.

"Get in Elsenord's room. All of you." She hoped Elsenord would have the sense to guide them. And she saw Redd look to the King, who gave a stately incline of his head.

"Lus, let me," Remee stepped past the knot of Lusis and the elves in the hall. "I'll speak to Kirst." His eyes swept over the tall, blond elf's hauntingly agreeable face, so affable and devoid of a single living emotion. It was like looking into the eyes of an apex predator. "Fires."

"Remee, why would you involve yourself in this?" Kirstman opened his arms in frustration at his youngest full brother. "I've had my fill of elves-"

Lusis lost the rest in getting the King and Ewon to Elsenord's room.

As soon as the door was shut. Ewon walked the King to the back wall before he turned and came to her, "Why, friend-Lusis? Are you not all Rangers? Why would he endanger peaceable elves?"

The Elfking leaned on the stones of the wall and turned his head to take in the small cube window beside him. "Well, these are certainly not elves, as evidenced by their seeming inability to build a proper window," he remained coldly patient, "why would you expect elven reasoning from them, Ewon? Look at how differently their minds work – as narrow as these windows." The King began to pace.

Ewon inclined himself somewhat desperately and said, "They are beyond my limited ability to fathom." He stepped back toward the door, to guard it.

For his part, the Elvenking's head tipped to the precise point where his rage was on a knife's edge. He glanced to Lusis, sharp and bright. "Are all mornings to be this eventful, do you think?"

"Please ignore my fool brother," she spoke through her teeth. "He's friendless and wouldn't understand the dedication that the elves feel toward a companion. And I should also thank you for taking care of me. I'm not worthy of-"

He'd reached the back of the room again, and his tone was dry with the desiccation of Kingly ennui. "I swear to you, if one more person in this house tries to tell me who is, and who is not, worthy of attention-" but he caught himself, and shot a narrow-eyed glance back at Lusis.

The King was in a terrible mood and seemed to miss his sword.

"The actions of the Buckmaster Men are deeply shameful at this hour. I'm… I am so glad you weren't injured when you were accosted, friend elves." In fact, Redd was so relieved that he stood up and wrapped his free arm around Ewon and the elf stiffened with the unfamiliar contact. Redd was taller than even the Elfking, so Ewon, who wasn't terribly taller than Lusis, was essentially enveloped in human. But he remained calm until Redd moved away again.

Ewon retreated toward the King, who had turned a familiar, vaguely smiling expression toward Redd Ayesir. Now said to his Elite, "It's like watching a child embraced by a forest Ent." His voice burbled with amusement.

The dark-haired elf's head cocked. The King had to look away. The motion was unusual in Ewon, who was generally extremely even-tempered and unquestioning. He set his fingertips on one cheek for a moment, and then glanced back at Lusis. "Friend-Lusis, I believe it is wise to take your brother up on his offer. The weather is turning, and it has become too dangerous for him here."

The Elfking hated to be spoken of rather than to so Ewon's revenge was immediate.

"I know," Lusis stepped aside and motioned at her brothers, "My Lord, I'm not sure you've met Lonnan and Elsenord-"

He gave a small nod, his expression so lissome in that moment of greeting that the light of it should have been captured in oil paints. He crossed back toward Lusis, "These are more of your endless supply of siblings, I presume."

"Yes, they are," she reached up to tug Lonnan's shirt sharply at the throat, and her older brother remembered to duck down, as Elsenord did, into an uncertain bow. "The difference being these two, like Remee in the hall, are trustworthy. They're going to get your things before we steal out of here."

"Hurry up about it," he looked up at the rafters and around at the windowless walls. "It is like being on the inside of a keepsake box, this place." He stopped moving, and then went to the window, which he hinged open, though it let a frigid breath of air into the room. "Lusis. Bells. What do the bells mean?"

Elsenord took out his sword at once.

Aric hammered on the door to the room. "Coming in, Chief!" As ever, Aric was more prone to use her title when she was most likely to be dismissed without its being said. He pushed through with Remee and Icar behind him. "If ever there was a time to sneak him out, this is it." He shoved a traveler's bag of supplies at Lusis. "Hurry."

Ewon glanced around him and spotted a long silver-fox fur on a hook behind the door. He strode over, snatched it, and threw it around the King. As he pulled the hood up around the blond, he said, "It shall be replaced," he added a hasty, "Mind him." And he was gone.

Lusis got the pack Icar had brought and dispatched her troop to collect all of their gear. She glanced over Lonnan and Elsenord. "See us out?"

Lonnan shut the door, hastily. "He's really the Elvenking of the Woodland Realm?"

"I really am," said Thranduil lazily from inside his hood. He sounded amused.

Lusis frowned and looked back in her brother's direction, "I can take care of him. You don't have to come with-"

Now Lonnan turned to Elsenord. "Get my halberd."

Her brother blinked a few times, and then was decided. "Lonn, the travel bags are under the beds." He turned to the King but spoke to Lusis, "And if he's the Elfking, he can have the fox cloak, to hide him out there." He hurried through the door.

They were in gear and ready in minutes.

Ewon came back with a bag on his shoulder and bowed to the King. "Please."

"There is no need," the Elfking waved this gesture away. "You would have to beg me to stay, Ewon. Let us leave this place and its strangeness behind."

Outside the door, chaos had broken out in the Keep. Women and children were herded to the Main Hall and crowded in the back corner. The rugs there had been rolled back, and a trapdoor had been opened. They headed down into a set of caverns under the Keep.

Lonnan paused. "Gods, where is mother?"

Lusis' face twisted with pain and she said a silent prayer for her Mellona, that she stayed in their defense, deep within the Keep, but she also remembered herself as she turned for the door. "Mother is a warrior, Lonnan. You forget."

They passed through the Main Hall, part of a flood of Men to the wide doors. They crossed the yard in silence. She hurried them the short distance down to the cold and crowded gates. She snatched a hold of the Elfking's wrist to slow him when he started for the thick stone ramparts. His hooded head looked down at this, and her action had the desired effect. He didn't leap up to them.

Kirstman strode along the top.

"Hoardings and gatehouses! Archers to arrow-loops!" Kirstman bellowed from the wall-walk and steam jetted around his broad, powerful shoulders, it frosted his short, blond beard. In answer, men shot in every direction around him, and rushed into position. Lusis sucked in a chokingly cold breath: how tremendous her eldest brother was when he rose to meet crisis. How like her father Kirstman was when he rallied. Now he raised his sword, "There are Rangers riding hard with horns sounding, mad for the gates of Buckmaster Spur! How will we answer them?"

Weapons stabbed air and a tremendous roar of voices rattled the stones.

The Elfking backed up a step, unarmed, and uneasy at the raucousness.

Kirstman's sword wheeled in air. It was a massive cleaver of steel called Greybuck, and the same her father had held just months before. The men of the Spur saw it and knew it for what it was. Good Nevrmen Buckmaster was gone. But Buckmaster steel would resound in this cold vault forever. Kirstman was the living embodiment of that continuity. "Rangers come to Keep, hard-pressed, and we do not know the enemy. How will we answer them?"

Another deafening cry, swords clapped to steel targes, and Ewon set a hand on the chest of the man he protected. His other hand worked his bow free, and let the quiver drop on its belts, to hang at his side, in easy reach.

"Lines along the road, and attack at will!" Kirstman pointed his longsword over the walls and the big gates howled open with terrific report, since the ice over the hinges had exploded from the steel.

The long downward slope of road was blindingly snow-blown, it was only possible to see grey shapes coming, yet, but the Rangers had been hard at work grooming the way in and creating white ridges of snow to use as cover. She knew from experience, those snow ridges were invisible from the road up. Kirstman's voice bellowed above the blasting wind, "They ride to their brothers! Bring them home!"

The roar made Lusis plant her feet, because she was so used to sweeping out over the snow, fleet and fast, a terror with the quick surety of her sword. Her heartbeat accelerated against her even breathing, so that she could feel it in the back of her tongue, and she tested her joints in the cold and squinted into the onslaught of blowing snow.

Rangers and warriors poured out of the Keep like blood from an artery. They flooded onto the spur and found their way into the drifts just as the first of the men with horns stumbled, bloodied, out of the storm. She knew his tattered blue flag with its black hawk. He held it in his fist. The pole of it was gone. Shock passed through her. Lusis felt herself unhinge. Her feet were moving. She picked up her sword and howled. "Men of the North! If you are Men, bring them in, safe!" Dozens of warriors heard her. Their feet began shuffling forward until the crowd of them broke apart and half a dozen went tearing down the road.

She started to pick up speed to follow them, because come fires or floodwaters she was bringing the sons of Bregor Arad into Buckmaster Keep alive and she would not stand back and watch her brothers fall.

"Lusis!" Elsenord caught up with her. He yanked her shoulder the motion turned her around.

The King stood some distance behind her, without steel, without mail, a peaceful traveler. Tall, beautiful, swathed in fur, and unarmed. It was physically painful to step away from the gates, but she turned and rushed to him, and she was panting with the effort not to run after the Rangers, "Come with me, Elvenking."

He reached a pale hand and rested his fingertips on her blade. She felt the charge run through it. She still carried the very elf-steel he'd given her, which she called Ial. Cry. And he'd just passed his fire through it. Her eyes could see what no one else here could. King's-Light. King's-Fire. It was that force inside of him that subjugated evil.

He knew how to pass some of it into elf steel.

Redd hurried out behind her and turned left. "Come on, lass! I have a feeling your brothers have this one covered. Let's hustle the King down the gap!" Right on his heels came Aric and his brother, Icar, the latter of which threw a heavy fur cloak over Lusis' shoulders, and threw the strap of her bag around her shoulder and chest.

"The gap is looking good for us, right now, Lusis," he puffed in the cold. "Or so Remee said of the weather hereabouts. Let's get him to the Great Greenwood before your brothers lock him out."

She glanced at them, at the world she knew, boiling and frenetic, all around her.

The Rangers had several of the Arad troop in hand and were tearing back toward the Keep.

"They don't need you, Lusis." Icar said nearly into her ear. "Not this time. The King does"

Ewon's bow-work was so quick that it was a smudge of motions, but he'd let off several arrows fletched in the red and gold of Mirkwood. A howling yelp sounded among the indistinct shapes hurtling up at them. "Wargs," his lips pulled into a quick snarl of disgust.

He'd felled two. He shot the third through the eye before it was really visible. Wargs with goblin raiders astride broke through the snow and Rangers seemed to 'appear' out of their dug-outs.

Fires.

"We need to go," she caught the King's hand. "Stay with me. Close."

They hurried into the storm as the gates began to shut behind them. But there hardly seemed any need. There were eight Warg raiders left, chasing a troop of ten battered Rangers. There were close to two hundred hardened warriors in wait in the snow. Wet and steaming webs of blood began to ripple and freeze across snow. The attackers were being cut down. Redd reached a guiding hand that did not touch the King and went down along a narrow path in snow, ahead of him, but just behind Ewon.

"At the fork, go left!" Lonnan bade them all. "We clear the rope lines around the hours during storms. With the snow so high if you duck into them, you will leave unseen. Here. Follow me! Follow!" He passed into the bank of snow on the left.

Elsenord directed her troop and the King. "Put your hand on the second rope and follow it no matter what comes to pass, and it will take you down to the gap we speak of – a fissure in the stone into which we have cut broad steps. We will lead you, but watch your step."

Aric shot ahead. "That last part – unnecessary for him. Trust me."

Icar smiled as he lugged their packs past.

Redd shot a glance at the Elfking as he paused to look at the falling Wargs. "Pay no mind. Just dogs, my Lord. And goblins. They arrived late for the funeral of great Nevrmen Buckmaster, now their skulls will decorate the walls." The King stepped toward the ropes on his left.

Lusis grinned wolfishly and followed, "Well, they're right on time for their own." Her dad would have loved this. She pressed her hand to the rough, cold rock face and they started downward, two steps, then ten. The stairs were built long and shallow in case one slipped, highly unlikely of the Elfking. And a great, shuddering shriek, like every horn in the North, but terribly high in pitch, juddered above them. Everyone in the tight pack of Rangers making the King's escape turned and looked up the stairs.

The King's back stiffened. He stopped and reached forward to slide one of Ewon's long swords free. He turned and started upward.

When she realized what he was doing, Lusis scrabbled to grab him.

The white fur cloak came free in her hands because he'd reached up to unhook it from his chest.

Ewon's eyes were huge at the shadow that passed over them in the snow.

Lusis charged up the stairs and hammered her gloved fist on the gatehouses. "Arrows! Archers!"

"Oh, Lusis-sell," said the Elite.

It seemed everything was moving too slowly, even her voice, and the steam of her breath in the frosty air, when the first dragon came down from the flurry, a dark mottled blue with grey, and white eyes. She fell back against the stone walls and sucked air, her eyes frozen wide open. It was between forty and fifty feet long, with a narrow body, a long neck, stubby head, and massive wings. The King walked down the middle of the road to Buckmaster Spur, and the light of him that her wizard eyes could see – that golden flame inside his chest – climbed to a white-hot blaze. He spun the borrowed sword. His ice-blond hair rode in the wind. The dragon leaned left in air. Wind whistled around its wings, and the tip of the lowest entered the snow and shot it up in air in a huge fan, like a wall, behind it. It banked hard around the walking King and climbed into the sky. The next dragon did much the same, but coming in on the right.

It was like her life passed before her. But it wasn't her life. She saw the Halls and Eithahawn's poised face; Legolas with his buttery hair flying as he stood in the flowery field beside Lake Township. Comforting memories. She heard herself make a hoarse sound that might have been a scream as she tried to get righted. Her body seemed locked to the stone wall.

Ewon's hand clapped against her upper chest.

Somehow, she tore out from under it. He caught her running form. "No. No, Lusis-sell."

Redd clapped his monstrous arms around her on one side, and Lonnan on the other.

It was lost to the loud blare of a dragon, when she was unable to struggle free, and then screamed his name.

The dragon dipped right for him, and the King didn't change a whit, right up until the last instant, when he suddenly lashed the sword around, slammed it into the dragon's open mouth, and cut it open far, far down its throat. His shoulder rolled over the wing and came up standing when the dragon hit the ground in an explosion of blood, and slid until it smacked into the gates. Dead. And shocked about it.

The other dragon made a furious noise far overhead.

Rangers came up to the road, Kirstman with them. "Retreat under the walls!" he shouted and then pointed Greybuck at the arrow loops. "Fire at will! Fire at will!"

Ewon sucked a deep breath in disbelief.

"No you'll hit him!" Lusis shrieked and tore out in front of the gatehouse she leaned against. She gestured at her brother. "Kirstman, tell them no! You'll hit him!"

But Kirstman just looked at her in passing.

Ewon flew down the road at his King, but he wasn't going to make it before the dragon did. Arrows started raining from the Keep. Lusis went numb. She watched one clip Ewon's ear. Another smacked into his shoulder. She just screamed and wasn't quite able to break free from Lonnan, Redd, and the others.

They took her to the ground and Redd pinned her.

She could hear nothing but bowstrings and dragon blares until the cries of many, many Wargs sounded in the hills.

Kirstman spurred the horns above her somewhere. "Rally! Rally! Many Wargs! Many!"

Her family of Rangers let up.

She saw nothing but red, and she tore over bloody snow, unable to find King or king's man, so she ran for the Wargs with her arms open and bristling with elf-steel. She'd killed many Wargs in her day, but never like this. She slammed into the first and hung on like a cat as it fell, then her upward stroke took off the head of the very surprised goblin riding it.

Lusis walked through them, incensed. Outraged. And she cut away bits and pieces. When a goblin aimed a cleaver for her head she smacked its blade aside with the flat of her hand and shrieked at him, "You cannot kill me today!" before running him through.

She was busy. She had a job to do.

Her brothers and troop were hard pressed to keep up with her.

Redd appeared on one side, swinging a monumental axe. Lonnan's halberd sliced off the top of a goblin's head. She saw Aric step up on a fallen Warg and get up behind a goblin he stabbed and threw down. Icar slammed a spear into the Warg and caught his brother as he leapt off. She scanned the sky, walking through burning bodies and a rainfall of flaming arrows to her right.

The dragon was gone. Where was the dragon? Fires.

The world rushed at her. Kirstman had caught her by the arm. For a moment, she saw he was talking to her, but heard only fighting, dying, and the kind of white-hot rage that came from being betrayed and losing people she loved. She threw his arm aside with such undisguised distaste that he backed away from her. She roared at him, "You fool, Man! What have you done?!"

He was wind buffeted. The gates behind him jumped free of frost.

He snatched her clothes and pulled her along behind him, "You're a fool, Lusis! You girl. You're betrothed! There is no hope. It has no purpose. Only a fool loves an elf!" He pulled her back toward the Keep, both bigger and stronger than she was, and so much like her father in his appearance that she felt close to tears. The battle haze could no longer protect her.

She started to hear the sobbing of her own breaths. "You are a fool."

"Redd," she caught him as Kirstman dragged her through blood, bodies, and snow. His hand fastened on her wrist.

"Lusis?" Redd glanced from her face to Kirstman's, and he was shocked, and unsure what action was right here.

Lonnan stepped in front of his brother. "Kirstman, easy now. She's not travel baggage to be dragged over the steps, she's a Ranger. She's our sist-"

"She's neither!" Kirstman snapped. "She's a spoiled girl that our father indulged. Now she's at the point of ruination. I will make her an anchoress in this house if you don't step aside!" He yanked her so hard that Redd either had to let her go, or pull her arm out of its socket. Lusis realized at once that she would have preferred the latter.

"Lusis," Icar rushed at her through the snow.

"She's not your troop master – not your Chief," Kirstman set a hand on him and, with his great size, cast Icar to the bloody snow. "Not anymore. She wants to be a Buckmaster? There are sacrifices that come with that name. She has duties here."

It was true that she thought of her father. She thought of his proud eyes when he saw her handle a sword, of his joy when she adapted the craft to her different body and began to excel beyond her brothers. She remembered the day he laughed at the suggestion she was too wild, and he he'd told the disgusted man that it mattered not at all, because she was utterly fearless. And her mother, who had given her everything she could of the hodge-podge of women's swordsmanship – this rag-tag, half-remembered art that transformed a girl into a weapon. And who had stood up for her, and never once against her. She thought of years gone. But no matter what she thought of, she couldn't go inside that Keep and be the kind of woman Kirstman quite honestly needed her to be. She set her heels into the snow and gasped, "I will renounce the name before I call you my master! You are unworthy!"

He looked back at her, stunned, and then laughed. "Oh, Lusis, you clever little thief, stealing in, and stealing out." He shook his head, "I am your only master." When he turned again he faced the beautiful, white-steel arrowhead of Nimpeth Ewonien.

Still. Silent. Lethal.

Nimpeth stood tall, utterly motionless, with her feet planted. Her black hair was hidden under a silver helmet in the design of the Woodland Realm, under her hood, and she was girded with steel under her white shirred-fur cloak. Her bow was silver and her long arms did not tire. She was like a carving.

Kirstman's eyes widened. "The Rangers will cut you down," he said faintly.

"You will never know." She said calmly. "For you will be in the next world."

"Oh, but I can promise you," Kirstman had to control his breathing now, "if you loose that arrow, you will be joining me there, sharps." He gritted his teeth on the insult.

"Human…" Nimpeth stroked his eyelashes with the arrowhead, "do not find that… a comfort."

Neither of them moved. The wall was silent.

It was possible for those nearby to hear the elf-woman's next words. "You will release Lusis Buckmaster." She fixed him with a stare so soulless that he slowly let up on his grip on Lusis.

Lusis bolted out into the snow and stopped when she stood with Redd, Icar, and Aric. The younger men looked horrified by what they were seeing, but Redd was stalwart. He straightened her cloak and told the others, "Shoulder her bag. We leave."

After a moment of stillness punctuated by blowing snow that was already hiding the evidence of a battle, Aric picked up the pack. He spat in the snow almost on Kirstman's boot. Lusis turned and followed Aric blindly. Numb. Behind her, Aric's brother, Icar, stepped around to walk backwards in the snow. He stayed in front of Lusis so that she was hidden from view as she left.

"Mark my words: Better the wolves," he shouted angrily, "than this Buckmaster Keep."

"Lusis!" Kirstman shouted at her. "Lusis you cannot walk away from this." When he turned to glare at the elf woman, she was gone.

Decades of truce between the full-blooded Dunedain in Ona's line, and the half-blooded of warrioress Mellona's, was dead. This life spun through her fingers like snowflakes on the mountain. The memories melted to nothing wherever they touched her skin. She couldn't even feel cold.

Lusis felt nothing.

She only burned to find the King and Ewon.

They broke into a run as they passed from easy sight of the Keep. The snow closed in. Nimpeth appeared as they ran, simply materializing in front of them in the wall of snow. And the tall elf beside her was Amathon, her husband and fellow Elite. Her voice was low, "Friend-Lusis, come with us."

She shook her head, "No. Where is your father?"

"As I said, please come with us." Nimpeth stepped forward and opened her arms. She inclined her head, "It is not far."

It was far. Particularly in light of the fact the elves could dart along on the surface of the snow, and that included Amathon, an elf nearly as tall and broad-shouldered as the Elfking. So, of course, they could not gauge the distance properly for humans.

Lusis didn't care. She fought her way through with her men behind her, and followed Nimpeth into the shelter of a rock cairn that was often used by travelers. It had been built, a long time ago, with a long slab of stone to cover the two principal outcroppings, so that anyone inside was sheltered from the snow. Ewon curled on a fur inside, covered in a thick wool blanket. He lay before a small, dry fire. The arrow was out. It made Lusis queasy to see the blue fletch of the Buckmasters, each with a white 'horn' included near the end of the vane.

"Oh gods," Icar clapped a hand over his mouth when he saw the wounded Elite.

Aric inhaled the ice-cold air to control his reaction. "Well…. When I saw that rainfall of arrows I thought he would die." The Ranger used the side of his sword to knock snow off his boots and then stepped into the man-made shelter. "Goes to show you what I know."

Ewon's damp eyes opened at the sound of approach. He seemed groggy, but his hand was on a knife. A wounded Elite was a deadly Elite. But Lusis was swept with such relief when she saw he was alive that she walked into the shelter, got down on her knees, reached out a hand, and stroked his hair. She didn't know what to say.

"I'm staying with him," Aric grumbled.

She looked at him, because he'd ever been critical of the elves. Then she said, "Aric, show them how this shelter is meant to work in the snowy season. He can't get warm."

Aric distracted himself with feeding some of the winter-dried twigs he'd been pulling from the gorse into the fire, "I will…. What happened back there – all of it – was wrong. You've got to find the King, Lusis. There are Wargs and goblins, and, it seems, big blue dragons out here. I'm staying with Ewon." Prior to this, she hadn't been perfectly sure that he knew the Mirkwood Elite Guard's name.

None of them had seen a dragon before and she had the King's slow, calm approach locked in her head, and how he'd split one of them from mouth to chest, with a single stroke. She squeezed Aric's shoulder. "I only ask one thing. If any of my brothers come by, just… please avoid maiming them."

Now he looked at her, his breath puffing silver trails in air as his lip curled. "Sorry, Lusis. But they won't mind a single thing if they're dead." He snatched up the Buckmaster arrow and snapped it in his hands, a feat that took considerable power, given the construction. Icar made a soft gasp.

And, with that, he broke his vow of allegiance to the Buckmasters.

Lusis sat back on her heels. His hand chased her and came to rest on her shoulder. "You will have new fletching, Lusis. Something fitting for an Istari of gold. I'd give my life to that."

She clapped a hand over his on the front of her shoulder. "It would be my honour." And, as for the safety of her Keep under Kirstman Buckmaster, it was enough answer for Lusis. She prayed his men hadn't pursued her, because Aric wasn't one of the type of Ranger who went between camps and saw occasional battle. He was, like Icar, born in the wild. And like Steed, who was not yet among them, his childhood had been spent in a protracted war that had rolled across the top of the world like a great, ancient gear, wetted in blood. Lusis very much featured in the landscape of his young adult years, and, if anything, she had been still more battle-prone.

Icar's hand came down on her shoulder as well. "My life is yours."

Redd muttered the same, from the mouth of the man-made cave.

When the hands pulled back, she bent to Ewon's ear. "Aric will stay with you, friend-Ewon. You can trust in his sword and his heart. He would die to keep you out of harm's way. He is a Ranger of the North and… and vowed to this Istari." She added, "He will keep this place safe and warm."

Ewon's head turned a little, "The young… prince… Thranduil."

Nimpeth dropped down beside her father and fellow Elite. "He's feverish." She pulled back the pale blanket. The arrow had passed through Ewon's flesh at a downward and inward angle. It had exited him at just shy of the center of his chest and oozed blood down his flawless skin. She smoothed her father's cheek with one careworn hand and set her fingertips in a tent-like shape above the injury. Slowly, she began a chant.

"I've got this covered," Aric swore to her. "Go, Lusis."

"I'll find him." Lusis stood up under the blackened stone, "I will fix this."

She stepped out to where Amathon stood with his white hood up, and his proud head bowed. He was the husband of Nimpeth. Ewon was his family.

"Amathon," Lusis pulled him a little apart from the others. "Wargs can smell blood on the wind for many miles. This mountain will be thick with them by morning. You have to range. Do you know what that means?"

"To an elf, I do. You are a Ranger. What does it mean, friend-Lusis, when you say it?" His great eyes blinked, and a hank of his deep auburn hair leaked out of his hood and billowed over her shoulder. He had very long hair, Amathon.

"You cannot sleep. You need to walk great circles around this stone, and kill as many Wargs as you can. Hurry to do it. The stink of their own dead is sure to push them away. Goblins don't like it either. If you fail to do this, and to be diligent about it, they will come as one force, together, and they will get to friend-Ewon." Her face was grave. She'd seen packs of Wargs tear men apart in seconds.

He said, "I must find the King." And he looked back at his wife and father behind him.

"No, I will find our King," Lusis told him and added, "I am an Istari, Amathon, and I know this land and all the sheltered places he would go if he could. I will go to them. He is my King as he is yours, and I have no intention of returning without him." She'd do anything to help their odds of surviving on the flatlands. They would be in great danger staying here. "We may be gone a night or two. These places are stocked with wood and weapons in the back. That should tell you something. If you dig down into the gorse, there are bilberries that can be safely eaten. Stay alert."

He inclined his head to her. His hand touched his breastplate and came out to face her, palm up, and slightly cupped. "Le fael, malen-Ithron." He translated at once, "You are generous, yellow-wizard."

She put a hand on his breastplate to feel the warm red fire in him. "In the gods' names, be safe."

Lusis walked down from the sheltered hill and stood in the blowing snow. Her eyes scanned the distance for any sign, but the snow blew thick, and was still falling in places. She had said she would find him, but it was a big North. She set off along the path of least resistance, pushing hard.

But it wasn't the way he'd gone. She knew that within hours. When light was half done for the day. To a dragon, no rill or peak was off-limits. She looked up from the flank of Bregolnag. There was one excellent place for dragons. Redd sucked air in the high elevation and they had to rest him. He was huge and his large body suffered the shortness of air this high up, greatly. He was very nearly sick, but he refused to turn back.

"Where now?"

"We… cross the ridge of Bregolnag-major and walk to Bregolnag-minor before heading for the Cave of Broken Steel." She looked aside at him. "You should go back, Redd."

His lips compressed into a stubborn line. Redd had a long history in the Northern Hoard, that library of last-resort for the peoples of Middle Earth. It was to that mountain vault that books were brought from Kingdoms under assault, or in peril. It was said they had books from Doriath locked deep in the troves. And when he'd read of the First Age son of warrior King Oropher – Prince Thranduil – as a child, he'd feared the great image of the ageless elf. But the man Redd had become loved the King and the Woodland Realm. He would not be turning back.

It was close to dark when they passed from Bregolnag-major to the minor peak. Much of that time was spent creeping and crawling across a wind-pushed arch of rocky escarpment so narrow they called it Blade Ridge. This was a crossing that shouldn't have been done lightly in good weather. Goats died here. Only desperation made her push onward with her men.

The incline was sharp into the setting sun.

Redd suffered this silently, stripping off the fur he wore rather than to break a sweat that would freeze onto him. His body steamed in the plummeting temperatures. They rounded the peak along an old goat trail. A drop splattered against Redd's shoulder and he swatted at it. He seemed surprised when his fingers came away bloody. "Everyone okay?" he turned quickly with his blade out.

Icar rushed forward and glanced around him, looking upward. "It… it's windblown blood." His mind did math in the cold. "We need to go toward the summit, Lusis. Something is bleeding near us-"

A powerful gust dotted their travel clothes in snowy red.

This thirty feet of climbing was the single worst ascent Lusis had had to undertake alone, on this journey. It was sheer and cold, the mountain bent outward where she eked her way, and Lusis nearly lost fingernails trying to hold on. At one point, her flesh ached like a pulverized bruise, and she could hear her heart, out loud, in air, thundering. When she got to the shelf above, she cast down a rope and lay back in the snow with her powerful legs braced against stone. Icar came up next, and she took the full force of his weight as he chose to climb the rope rather than risk the outward angle of rock. He fell in the snow beside her and held the rope with her for huge Redd.

When he made the shelf they all lay panting for a time, and Lusis' heart began to slow. The wind began to bury her. She made her way to her feet and folded rope around her arm. She didn't dare look down the way she'd come. That way lay madness.

Redd pulled Icar to his feet, and he shook the winter air off his cloak. They went around the side of this shelf of stone, and Lusis thought it was no larger, in places, than the docks at Lake Township. Redd started to run along the cracking frost. The world was red here, not just with sunset, but with dragon's blood. Great pools of it that they navigated around until they were forced to leap the neck of a blue dragon. It was cut into three pieces, away from the body dangling on the edge of this rock shelf, and slowly freezing on. The mangled wings were in broken tatters along the peak. They'd fallen in such a way as they sheltered the mouth of the Cave of Broken Steel, but Redd wasn't running toward that. He swung his fur cloak off and collapsed into bloody snow.

"I have you. I have you, my King." Redd muttered. "I have you. You are safe."

Lusis rushed toward him and then froze. Rooted.

The Elfking was prone in his fine Kingly traveling garb. He curled in a pool of blood that had formed under the severed throat of the dragon. It still steamed. He was red, from top to bottom. His skin and hair all soaked in blood. Lusis made a strangled sound and backed away as Redd fished him out. Ewon's borrowed sword slid from his hand and stood upright in the snow.

Icar wrapped it in his cloak and took it up with a soft swear. "Doom's Fires. He's all over bloody. Is he whole? Is he breathing, Redd?"

"This way!" Lusis hurried to the cave. Long ago, its mouth had been covered in leather cloth that hung in tatters now. She'd been here once before, and knew that Rangers stocked wood and strikers in the back of the cavern. She felt the need to slow her breathing by force of will. "Careful with him."

In shape this cave was like a hook. She turned immediately left in through the door, and through a narrow passage the cave opened up. The space was marked with human habitation. Old blankets lay in piles by one cold wall. There was a truly archaic wood bowl and blackened steel basin. She spread old blankets over granite and set the fire in the circle of blackened stone that held the ruins of fires stretching back centuries. "Put him here."

Redd carried the King against him, and as tall and great as the King was, he was like a child in Redd's arms. Icar hurried behind with handfuls of snow he thrust into the steel bowl and set on the fire. He rushed back out for more. Lusis knelt beside the Elfking and pressed her hand over his bloody chest. He… wasn't as cold as he might have been.

"The blood," she turned to Redd and laughed. "He got into the blood to keep from freezing to death."

She could feel his heartbeat.

Redd's shaking hands pulled Thranduil's blood-red hair out over stone, "Doesn't dragon's blood burn? I read in a book that it could be cold as ice, sharp as acid, or hot as…"

"Hot as fire. In this temperature that would be like a hot bath." She laughed again, because she was unable to keep the relief from bubbling out of her, and she leaned over the ear of the King, "Thank you, you brilliant man."

Icar was melting water. "Sun is going. I'd like to get some of those blankets over the door."

"I'll help," Lusis grabbed a handful of them and glanced back at Redd, "check him for injuries. Carefully, Redd, all right?"

Lusis and Icar brought in snow for boiling, several times, and set some snow aside by the mouth of the cave for later. It was easily cold enough there to preserve it. This work, and anything that involved going outside, would be taxing as it got darker. It would be next to impossible if the wind didn't let up. Getting warm and staying that way was more critical as the sun went down.

It took work and clever use of some of their climbing ropes to keep the blankets they used to bar the cave from blowing in. Icar and Lusis, in the end, managed to make two barriers. The one leading to the outside was well anchored, but drafty and prone to fluttering. A webbing of rope and the relentless pressure of the wind outside held this barrier, flimsy as it was, in place. Where the cave curved and narrowed, they set up a more solid barrier. The blanket here hung on long steel pegs someone had driven above the door long before. During this last bit of work, they had to strip off their winter cloaks. It was becoming warm inside. Icar hung both of their cloaks over the same pegs as held the blanket. Skin and fur were much more effective than wool and as soon as it was in place, Lusis felt the heat rise in the dry cave, and her body's energy sap. "Tea?"

"I think so," Icar rubbed an eye and went to his pack.

"Can you get out of the bottom flap of the door outside?" Lusis asked Icar. "We may need more snow for water." She felt parched as it was.

"Yes, there's a bit of a trick to it, but then, you really just need to reach a hand out," now Icar stretched, because the exhaustion of effort in the extreme cold was finally leeching into his joints. He took down his cloak and made to push the blanket aside. He'd been about to say, 'Let me show you' when the soft noise that rose from the inner cave made them both stop.

Lusis pulled Icar into the cavern with her. "Look at him?"

"It's okay," Icar chuckled over his shoulder. "He's decent." He turned to hang his cloak up again.

"Shush, both of you," Redd said to them, and he turned back to laying out the King's bloody hair on the stones. "Come in here and make tea. Something he'd find familiar if you have it. He's in and out."

They walked toward the heat together. Lusis was so tired she felt wobbly. She picked up Ewon's sword for cleaning. Redd had been pouring the cast-off water onto it in one corner of the cave, so, essentially, it was bloodless now, but cleaning it would relax her, and she knew it. She knelt down beside the King and sat on her heels. Part of her panicked that he wasn't already awake. She tugged the blankets up around him. "What are you doing?"

"He's uninjured, so-"

Icar fumbled the small bag of spruce needles and rowan berries he held and only just caught it before it all spilled. "Are you serious?" He bent to picking needles up off the floor of the cave.

"Very serious," Redd exhaled his relief. "He's unhurt."

Lusis found his bloody hand, "Why isn't he awake?"

"I'm unsure," said the goliath Ranger. "Maybe it's that he's fatigued. He wasn't resting in Buckmaster Keep."

"Don't mention that place," Icar scowled and looked at the craggy entrance to this cave as if Aric might come through it at any moment. "You're putting me in a sour mood." He smiled apologetically and picked up the steel cups they all carried. He dipped some of the steaming water from the bowl and set the rowan berries to soak in the cups.

"I'm washing the blood out of his hair is what I'm doing." Redd volunteered of the King. And he proceeded to do just that. He combed out the dried clotting, soaked the lengths, and then combed water through the rest. It wasn't perfect, but it was a clear improvement.

Redd smoothed his wet hair with his fingers to squeeze out water and traces of blood. She cleaned the sword and watched Redd daub trickles of blood from the King's skin. As soon as she was done, Lusis held his long, pale fingers curled over her own and felt for the steadiness of his pulse. He would be okay if he could wake. She smoothed the pad of her thumb through his eyelashes and felt the heat of his skin. "Is he feverish? He seems-"

"Adar," he said in a quiet tumble, "baw-adar." A moment later he burbled. "Hir vuin."

"I'd say feverish. Dragon's blood may be warm, but I read that it's not terribly good for a body. To be exposed to it, at all, one must go by degrees." Redd glanced at her hand holding the King's.

"He took a bath in it," Icar handed over mugs of tea.

"Save mine for the Elvenking. I'd like water," Redd shook his head and looked across at Lusis, to where she doggedly clean swords. "I wish I knew what he was saying. I… I don't suppose you can hear him in that Istari head of yours?"

"You know I don't believe in that." She shook her head at him.

"That you can hear him?" Redd was amused.

She drew a warm wet cloth down the white blade. "That I'm a wizard, you big forehead-lump. I don't believe that. I have no power but the power my sword, my wit, and my strength grant me. That's enough. So there's no chance I can hear him. There's a better chance for you two, in fact."

"Why?"

Lusis steeled herself. "There's no guarantee I have a drop of Dunedain blood. In you two it is assured, and that means somewhere in those big, feckless tubes of yours is a speck of probably very exasperated elven blood."

Icar chucked and curled up on his side by the fire, he set his head on his pack and laid his sword out before him on the stone floor. "And there's no evidence that you don't have that exasperated speck of blood, either." He blinked for a moment too long. "Haven't you heard an elf in your thoughts before, Lusis? Sometimes, in the Halls, I would overhear a sigh, or a laugh, emotions they keep inside."

She looked at the Elfking. "Let's just see him through the night, safely. That's my goal. Don't expect any miracles from me." She sipped her tea and then nodded, "First watch is mine."

They huddled around the fire, covered in blankets. Icar and Redd tumbled into sleep with the abandon of children. Lusis was horribly exhausted, and unaware of the hour. She got up to pace until the fire grew low. She set small amounts of fuel on it three times, and was so tired, by then, that she woke Redd, and lay down on the bare stone. Her head pillowed on the edge of Redd's fur, which now covered the Elfking. She brushed against him.

"Adar," he breathed and curled vaguely. He shifted to indistinct Westron. His voice so accented that it took a moment for her to process the word. "Cold."

On hearing this, Redd got to his feet and whispered that he would put a branch on the fire. He was back in the jumble of detritus at the end of the cavern and missed the King's next words.

"Your skin is… like ashes." His fingers worked on the dirt and stone floor.

"Easy. Rest easy, my King," Lusis sat up and tucked the furs around him. She lay against his side, with her face pressed to his ribs, and hoped that the heat inside of her would leak into his flesh. Dread filled her that he might never wake again. But exhaustion sucked her under nonetheless.

She became aware of the stink of blood, offal, and burning flesh.

In the distance, noise and confusion – cries, the crack of steel on steel, and the roar of many voices. A great battle was raging nearby. She could smell fire inside the dream. Distant fire. She, herself, stood in a pavilion whose lights were dampened. The moon flowed in through rips and blackened holes. It was in sad shape.

Figures lay in the dark.

She knew Thranduil on sight. She knew his long hair, and his eloquent hands, clenched in fists. He wore steel. His face was hidden. He lay over the bloody breastplate of a great tall elf, maybe a foot taller than Thranduil himself was. The stranger's hair was a magnificent mane of white waves tucked under the silver circlet and white stone she knew well. That pale hair was slowly absorbing a spreading pool of blood in which they both lay. This elf… his long and upswept silver eyes were open and dull, he was stunning. And he was blank. She'd never seen such nothingness in an elf before, and drew closer.

She jolted when she saw that half the big elf's breastplate was missing, along with half his chest, a shoulder, and an arm. Thranduil lay over this gaping wound like he could replace what was missing with his own flesh. His fingers slid in blood. They climbed the breastplate and left fingermarks through which the white steel shone. The low, quiet sounds that began to grind out from Thranduil's chest were pitiful. She felt her throat go tight, and her teeth set with agony.

"Please. No." He gasped the way that most elves repeated spells of healing.

Several elves lined the walls.

Ewon stepped from the dark and knelt in the expanding circle of blood.

He took the circlet from the fallen elf's waves of hair.

Thranduil remained in a slow agitation of begging and clawing on his father's steel. Even so, Ewon set the circlet onto his straight, pale hair. The Elite's words were as numb and unresponsive as his thin, drawn face appeared. "You are my own. You are my King. Long may you live." But he reached down to stroke the fallen elf's hair. He didn't touch Thranduil.

The elves in the room all bowed.

Thranduil wasn't conscious of his coronation. He was King of the Woodland Realm and his first words as a monarch were panicked whispers. "Father, no. No."

And here he was, thousands of years later, locked in this torment.

How had he come to be here?

How had she?

Lusis looked down at herself. Old, stained Ranger leathers dusted in golden specks, like she'd run through a cloud of Mirkwood pollen. And a light as large as an egg blazed at the base of her throat. She pawed at it to get it off, realized what it was – her Istari 'star-point', which was usually no larger than a grape-seed – and hissed out air. She put her hands on her knees and bent until she calmed down. When she straightened, Ewon stood staring, not at Thranduil, but at – that was Oropher. She clapped a hand to her mouth. Of course it was. Who else could it be?

She glanced around her. Shocked. Unable to explain to her own mind what was happening. She saw Ewon. He was clearly suffering as he looked at the man he'd dearly loved and served. He'd already forgotten about the newly crowned King. Indeed, the elves around the walls of the pavilion began to come close and lay flowers on the fallen King's hair.

Noiseless, feverish emotions had overcome the Elfprince… so the elves 'didn't see' him.

He might as well have cried out for help from the bottom of Long Lake.

Lusis turned away, she struggled through the darkness, and felt the steel and flesh, and braids of smooth hair for a way out. She'd just lost her own father. She knew what this grief was, and how it felt. It was a bottomless pit and she could feel the inborn instinct of it in her own middle, as structural to her humanity as breathing. She had to get away from him. His emotions were a vortex. Too desolate. And he was too powerful to run out of control.

She glanced over her shoulder, back at him.

Two of his fingertips caught on the jaggedness of broken breastplate and began to bleed.

Lusis froze. That blood gleamed in her mind, more precious than rubies.

He's trapped here. He can't get out.

It was torture. Lusis began to hate dragons as she'd never despised an animal before. Then the sonorous voice of Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, came to mind. It was like a cool wind over the fever of her fears: If you had been overwhelmed by the beguilement, what then?

That thick, hot blood had kept the Elvenking from freezing to death, but it came with a price. What had saved him had flung him into fires, alone. And an elf could die of grief.

Dragons were insidious. And he was besieged. But he was not alone.

She scowled at her spinelessness, which was, she reflected, no way to honour the memory of her own father. Lusis turned. She bared her teeth and went to the Elfking. Hadn't she sworn that she would be his protector? She knelt down behind Thranduil. She lay over his broad, bowed back and stretched her arms along his. The power of him, though. The unthinking dominion of those grief-stricken muscles. Had she been like this?

Lusis couldn't move him. She tried once, twice, on the third time she pushed her face into the back of his bowed neck, against his callously soft hair, even in this awful extremity. "We cannot alter what's done, my King. I could curse that the nature of such good beings does nothing to prepare you for death! Listen to me. One moment he is there, and in the very next just his things are left. His armour. His Kingdom. His blond hair and crown. His son. He's gone. And you have to get up and leave him behind." She fastened her hands around his wrists and straightened.

He came up with her. Quiet. She could feel him panting for air. He fought for self-control.

"I'm sorry," she pressed her forehead against his cold armour. She struggled for words, and found what Mellona had told her. "There's a great gulf between you now, and all the love, all the warmth, all the years… are nothing beside the truth. You stand on opposite shores. He's left you behind."

The voice she heard next wasn't the whispering voice of the youth he'd been. It was the slow, sad voice of the King she knew, the one who had lost much. He extended a long hand, this one wearing the rings his wife had given to him. He stroked his father's hair. Laid his hand against the great-elf's smooth cheekbone.

Lusis' hand chased his wrist. "No, Thranduil."

"I only want to touch him," the King said, "one last time. Even if only… in this nightmare." His fingers stroked his father's smooth cheek. After a moment, he reached out and shut his father's grey eyes. Then the Elfking's voice was sorely quiet, "Le melin, adar."

The apparition broke like a fever dream. Lusis' eyes opened in the dimness of the cave. She was colder now, bundled against the King's side. Icar was behind her, feeding the fire. Slowly the King's hand came up to rest against her hair. His fingers curled and pulled it gently back from her face.

She sat up.

Icar pulled his sword, "Damn!"

The King's long silver eyes were open. He looked very unsteady at that moment.

Redd leaned over, awake now, and saw the King was back among them. "Tea," he said with quiet urgency. "Tea, Icar. Hurry."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

As they packed up, waiting for first light, the Elfking rested. More honestly, he stood quietly by the fire and stared into space. They'd probably all seen him do this before, he was a cunning and deep thinker, Thranduil Oropherion, but Lusis was concerned about it in light of all she'd witnessed, she swore, inside his feverish, dragon-sickened mind. She carried her pack to the door to wait for first light and looked back at the King. Redd lingered around by him, feeling the same worry.

It was the first time she'd had hope of any kind of unnatural power granted to her by her Istari blood. She worried, though, that she couldn't see the fire of him. But that wasn't actually unusual. In the Halls and Lake Township there had been many days, at times, when she'd lost track of that sturdy spark buried inside him.

She exhaled a trail of vapour. She wanted to see that fierce, clean light again soon.

Redd, who had washed away the blood from as much of the King as the supply of warm water would allow, had had thick, syrupy blood all over his hands, and through the night he'd had such terrible nightmares that he'd appreciated being stirred, and that there was a time during which he'd been expected to be awake. Likewise, he was grateful for the coming of dawn. But it found him weary and pale. His great hands shook with the infirmity of illness and he asked the distracted King, "Curses. Is there no part of a dragon that is harmless?"

"No part," the Elfking's staring eyes didn't blink, but they turned to take in the Ranger beside him. The King had to look up, which was an unusual situation at his great height. "Their dark power invades all. Where this one has fallen, dark fortune will follow."

He reached up to steady Redd's shaking hands with patient fingers. Elves didn't touch much, but then, the Elfking pitied this young being for his devotion. But he took care. Dragon's blood still stained the King's travel clothes.

Redd frowned, "This is no place for one such as you, my Lord."

A small light of amusement sparked in the Elfking's silver eyes. "Is it not?" he lifted the edge of a burning branch from the fire and took a few steps toward the back of the cave. Lusis cocked her head and, like Redd, followed him.

The King raised the branch he held and the flames crawled over stone. Cirth inscriptions lined the wall, and then broke into sudden swirls as she'd seen in Mirkwood.

Redd's eyes widened. "What is this?"

"Which part?" Thranduil asked the huge Ranger.

"I've seen these many times before, in many places, and some in Mirkwood." Redd blinked and added, "Any part, my King." Behind him, Lusis recognized the jump of excitement in his voice and smiled. When you were ill, it was good to have a distraction, particularly one you loved to chase. For Redd, that was the stories of these ageless elves.

The King's fingers touched cold stone. "This is Certhas, which the Sindarin made for inscriptions and which the dwarves adopted as their alphabet, in fact. You would have seen this on their weapons and tools, on their worked stone. You would have seen it when we went into the Lonely Mountain." He turned to look at the Ranger. "And the rest is Sindarin. Tiw – or tengwar – as seen in Beleriand."

"What does it say?"

"It says, Here did Thranduil, son of Oropher, Prince of the Great Greenwood remain after the destruction of Gorgorax, she-dragon – she who proclaimed herself Queen of the North." He turned to look at the back of the cave, and upward. "The number is eighty eight. Eighty eight days. And, up there in the darkness, there is a shelf of stone which I would venture, none have disturbed."

Lusis' mouth dropped open. "You were here?"

"Yes," he said quietly. "A very long time before men came to camp on the spur of Limgoroth."

He walked down the long cavern and set the wood into the fire.

"Stars," Redd exhaled slowly. "Do you wonder if he named the mountains?"

They grinned at one another and followed the Elfking to Icar. The King glanced over the steel pegs above the door as it they had swum up at him out of long memory, and he swept aside the blanket and stepped out into the outer passage. He softly frowned, "Tighter than I remember."

Redd grinned on his way out. Icar undid the complexity of ropes, took back one length, and then threw the other long coil into the cave for the next traveler who might happen this way. It was the same reason they left a baggy of spruce and rowan, as well as a small bundle of dried meat. Outside, the pool of dragon's blood the King had dragged himself into still steamed. He looked at it in a disconnected way, and the carcass of the dragon in the rising sun. It was no longer snowing, so only the blowing white wind painted the sky. It obscured the sun, but didn't dim it. However, they were very near the summit of Bregolnag. This high above the world, the snow was perpetual, and the sun was no more than a light. It held no warmth.

Icar stretched and rubbed his flat belly. "I could really do with a pot of stew."

Everyone looked at him, seeing as the King had nothing at all to eat. The apples were with Aric, it had turned out. Icar sheepishly set to tying on for the descent. The wind lashed the rope wildly and so it proved hard to secure. In the end, the Elfking took a length of rope and wrapped it around his arm. "Go."

But Icar froze. Redd, however, had an absolute kind of faith in the King. He was the largest of them, but the King held his weight easily as he scaled down. The wind blew long blond hair in a sunlit fan around the Elvenking as he said, "Once, there was a path to this escarpment. I realize, now, it was nothing that Men could pass." The rope jerked his curled arm and he eased it back to position. Icar followed Redd downward. His descent was much easier on the King.

When Icar gave the tug that he was on the shelf below, the King pulled up the rope and wound it around his long arm.

Lusis cocked her head at him. "We need that for-"

He closed an arm around her and stepped off the edge of the snowy shelf. She curled into a ball instinctively, and they landed on the snow without incident. On it, she noticed, and not knee-deep in it. He was an incredible being. When he set her down, she sank in.

On the way down the mountain, the path became more even. This meant they were coming to The Blade, which was harrowing, but at least Lusis had enough attention to spare to ask the King. "How many dragons did you take in this attack?"

He paused in the wind, his hood down from his sunlit head. "Six of them. They were small, maybe only five decades in age. I would call them hatchlings. Do you consider them dragons?"

"Of course I do!" she chuckled at the thought.

"They are lesser dragons, I suppose it is true," his head turned in the direction of the narrow ridge now only a league on from them. "They are of the type the Witch Kings of Angmar rode through the war of the ring, and a type of lesser being that we loosely call worm-heads. They are no less deadly, but… they are an easier kill."

Icar's breath puffed on the wind as he told Redd, "He's got to be joking."

"Easier for him." Redd glanced over at the King, whose white-blond blowing hair was blinding with light in the sun overhead. "I bet Gorgorax was harder."

The King's brows went up. "One doesn't call oneself Queen of the North without attendant exploits."

"What was she like?" Lusis asked him.

"Vain, proud, and very beautiful – she was the colour of snow and shadowy drifts, and her great serpent eyes were mismatched. One was white, and the other was gold. Fangs and claws like icicles. It is fortunate for me that she was narcissistic, because she was discerning. In this chain of mountains, she was worshipped as a goddess, and Men gave to her – ah, what is the word for gweneth – virgins," he turned toward the ridge ahead and then back toward Lusis. "Gorgorax was not as talkative as one might have hoped. Besting her was a test for which I was unready."

"You still did it," Lusis said of him, and the King stepped onto the main trail and led the way down. She followed him to where the path widened and they could bunch together to protect him from any archers who might be below. It was reflex. The wind shear would have torn the arrow off course before it went ten feet.

He chuckled and actually stopped to turn and look at her. "When I came here, she had a cult of filthy and primitive Men, numbering in the hundreds to protect her – they would become the peoples of Angmar. They loved her. They had festivals for her. Their culture had been built around defeating other tribes and offering their virgin sons to the Queen of the North. It was not simply Eldar against dragon, this fight. There were sorcerers here. And then, being chaste at that time, came the immense risk of Gorgorax's appetite for beautiful and pure things to corrupt, for, once she saw me, there was no bauble that the Queen of the North desired more. You must believe me. I was unready." His hair spilled around him as he turned back toward the journey down.

Redd nudged close to her. This sort of a tale was exactly of the kind that the former librarian lived to record. "I want the fullness of that story later, if you can convince him to talk of it at length."

"Why would he tell me?" Lusis cocked her head in an almost elven motion.

Redd's thick brows rose, "Because when it's you asking, he talks."

Lusis had to admit that this was true. Something had happened the night in Erebor, when she'd run through the Counting Room – the Counting Sea – of the dwarves, and fished him out of the Lake of Light. That was the place at the foot of a staircase where the dwarves had collected white stones. She'd swatted away gems that both tempted him and hurt him in equal parts. He'd changed toward her after that. He'd seemed to abandon his hope for the power of the gems and put his faith in her instead.

They made their way to the narrow windy ridge called The Blade, and the King was halfway to the other side when he saw that the humans had to crawl across the painfully narrow way, risking drops of greater than hundreds of feet to either side. He crouched as they approached, his hair flagging out behind in the powerful wind. "I will be close."

Lusis pushed up from the stone. "My Lord, that's kind of you. But I'd settle for you being out of the way for this one."

He pushed her hair out of her eyes and walked, effortlessly, to the mountain proper.

It was dark before they reached the flatlands. The table-like shelter in which they'd left Aric, Amathon, Nimpeth, and Ewon was still far off, but the going was easy, so they could jog it. The Elfking sucked a breath through his teeth. "Foul air."

They sprinted between snow-covered mounds and Lusis exhaled a great gasp of relief, "These are dead Wargs." She nearly laughed. "He's been killing the Wargs."

Under the moonlight, she could see a roughly circular pattern of mounded animals in the snow. They'd been arrayed in great rings. Amathon, and possibly Aric and Nimpeth, at work.

She looked at the King, "We're not far now." He inhaled deeply, his eyes momentarily innocent as a child's as if he faced something that distressed him greatly, and Lusis said, "We'll be there soon."

The snow, at least, had stopped falling. The hardship was down to cold wind blowing the loose stuff around. Amathon met them shortly before they reached the fire-lit camp. He brushed by the Rangers and dropped down onto his knees on the snow before his Elvenking, his relief was so great. "My beloved King, the Yellow Istari said she would not return without you. I am so thankful."

"Get up, Amathon," the King said quietly. "You have done great things among the Wargs, I see."

"Not alone. It is an effort of two warriors at any given time." He eased up to his feet and stepped aside. "We are ahead. Let me show you."

The Elfking went quietly as they walked the rest of the way into camp.

Aric let the slack out of the bow he held as they came down the hill with Amathon. The front of the man-made cave had been transformed by Aric's Ranger know-how. Snow had been piled up to shut it off from the outside. There was a door covered in a blanket – the common method – and smoke holes drilled in the snowy wall that would also serve as arrow loops from the inside.

Icar picked up speed when he saw his brother, and the pair of them met in a rough embrace with Aric grinning, "There you are, weakling. I was starting to wonder if I'd misplaced you somewhere."

"You're thick enough to." Icar clapped his brother on the arm and turned him toward Redd, Lusis, Amathon, and the Elfking. "Look what else we found."

"Stars, Lusis. You brought him." Aric inclined his head to the Elfking clumsily. Not a noted fan of elves, or he hadn't been. But he was nearly weak with relief and then walked over to hug Lusis, herself. "What's wrong with Redd? He looks like a dead man walking."

"Dragon's blood," Lusis sighed and motioned at the Elfking. "The both of them are stricken."

The King pushed through them all, "Where is Ewon?"

"Inside, Elfking," Aric said and led the way to the blanketed door. He called out his name a few times, and then edged forward to push the flap open. "Nimpeth has a penchant for firing at anything that moves out here."

"She's protecting her father," said Amathon. "And, well, she's not known for her patience."

They filed inside, and the Elfking came in with Amathon behind him. Lusis ducked in after that.

It was certainly more comfortable now that Aric had sealed them in with snow – that was the way these places were meant to be used. It also made the place difficult to find.

Ewon sat up on a layer of cut gorse that had been covered in a pair of thick blanket rolls. His arm was carefully slung and wrapped against him. He sipped a cup of tea that Nimpeth, in her white leathers, had just poured for him. She stood on sight of the Elfking and bowed to him. "My cherished King." Her hand flew to her breastplate and opened out at the tall blond elf like a white flower blooming. She made the gesture, again, to the Rangers with him, "My thanks, friends. Deepest thanks!"

Ewon dropped the steel cup of tea he held, and it splashed against the fire. He curled in around his chest with a soft huff of air.

The Elfking moved quickly to him. "Ewon? Is it pain?"

The Elite seemed beyond speech or action for a moment. During that short interval, the Elfking sank down on his knees beside the makeshift bed, reached a careful hand, and cupped it around the elf's injured shoulder. A spark woke in the King's chest. But it was vague and blue. The Elvenking drew a soft hiss of pain and took his hand away.

Lusis glanced between them.

"My beloved King, it does my heart such good to see you," though Ewon still couldn't bring himself to actually look up yet. His relief was too powerful. "I am so grateful." His long hand came up to briefly touch the King's broad chest over where his heartbeat would throb.

"Peace, Ewon." The Elfking said softly.

"I am so thankful, so very glad, to hear your voice in this world again," Ewon's breaths were close to sobs, but he breathed deeply. After a moment, he peeked up at the Elfking, "And… ah… your hair is like that of a runaway horse, and you reek. Is that dragon's blood?"

The Elfking had to put his head down to keep from laughing. "Do not let it trouble you. I am rested and will protect you tonight." His head bent forward and to the right in a small incline.

Ewon shook his head, "No, my King." He tried to pull himself up to follow, but Nimpeth wouldn't allow it. She also kicked his steel cup free of the flames and gave him an admonishing look, father or not.

The Elfking stood and walked back to the folded blanket that served as a door. He paused by Lusis, "The presence of dragon's blood will slow Ewon's recovery. Have Nimpeth give him healing. Also, Redd, who is sick with the poison of the worm-head, and then she must rest herself."

Lusis didn't bother mentioning that he was also ill. She understood his love for them, and told him, instead, "I'm coming with you."

"By all means," he gave her a soft inclination of his head, with his eyes averted under long and thick, dark-blond lashes. "I took that man's sword. And because of it, he is badly injured. I do not deserve such constancy as he bestows on me."

Amathon stepped beside them and said, "The way he would tell it, my King, is that you took that man's sword, and because of it, you lived. In this world, you are one of the only things worthy of such constancy, of that, I am very certain." He raised the long white sword balanced on his open hands – the sword of the Elfking. "We have both. I am sorry I could not present them to you sooner. Perhaps in the Keep of the Buckmaster clan?"

"No," the Elfking shook his head. "There, I was but a traveler. There I wished only peace. I was disinclined to bring a sword into that home."

"That worked best. Too many of the Buckmasters had scant patience for elves, but, unarmed as he was, they could not be very aggressive – they'd have looked like the wrongdoers." Icar scowled from where he'd settled down by the fire. He was boiling water. His mood improved as he said, "Lusis, won't you wait a minute, please, for this to finish? Won't you fill your flasks with hot tea? Just a minute."

She nodded at this, and accepted the warm fur cloak that Redd gave to her. He was shaking badly by this time, and his eyes had grey demilunes beneath. "Be warm. Be accurate, my friend."

"Stars, lie down, Redd." She gestured and both Amathon and Aric came to get him. Nimpeth unfolded a long and thick wool cloak over the shoulders of the King. He bound it himself, and pulled up the hood of it as he waited.

Then he took out his swords beside Lusis. "Lyglim and Lossivor. My oldest friends."

"Why two?"

"My… this sword, Lyglim, was forged for me when I was a boy. But Lossivor…" he help up the silver sword whose hilt had small snowflakes impressed into the pommel, "this is my father's – forged in the heart of winter, and scored on the pommel by falling snow."

Thranduil exhaled and took the belts of his two long swords. He took out Ewon's silvery blade and passed it over to Amathon. "Clean it well. Do not let the steel touch your flesh until it is passed through fire."

Lusis took two flasks of tea, a packet of dried meat, a baggy of bilberries, and two apples before she went out into the cold after the King. Since she was partnered with the Elfking on their patrol, they went right out the door. Aric, who was often censorious of elves, seemed to be getting along with tall, deadly, but unobtrusive Amathon. They went out and left.

The King walked slowly through the night, his pace stately. He watched Lusis, mostly. She was very good at combat in snowy conditions. She took a bow and arrows with her and the many Wargs attracted to the silvery glow of the elf walking atop the drifts fell before her fleet assaults out of fissures and from behind banks of obscuring snow.

Near morning, they spotted a band of Northern men dragging their sledges of ice toward Buckmaster Keep. They came with a pair of Rangers guarding them. The ice-men stopped and held up white flags in peaceful greeting. Lusis thrust her sword up in air and turned to point it in the direction of the Keep. It was normal when meeting a Ranger in the wild that they would point you to the nearest inhabitable place. Her kind always knew their direction. The Rangers spun their swords up in salute before they jogged on with the ice-men huffing between them. Honestly, if they ran into any danger between here and the spur it would be, by this time, a miracle.

But even that little action – pointing to her home with the tip of her elven sword – was so bittersweet that she walked for miles with tears gumming her eyelashes.

The sun began to paint the sky as they turned back for their little camp.

Aric and Amathon were already back, and they were prepping packs for the trip.

Ewon stepped out, pale-faced, but hale enough for travel. He saw the King and his nose wrinkled. "Lewegdol," he said the Sindarin for worm-head. "We will burn those clothes."

The King chuckled at him. "The one thing about smelling like a serpent, Ewon. The serpents do not take you for an elf. There have been none further."

"Wargs will feed on a downed and wounded dragon," said Ewon. "Are you all right?"

The Elfking's head tipped, "Are you?"

Ewon took his arm out of his sling and flexed his fingers. "I am supposed to rest it, but it is feeling very good, at the moment."

Nimpeth stopped beside him, and Ewon studiously set to putting his arm back into the elf-fabric sling. She didn't leave, or leave-off glaring, until he had set himself to the task. Amathon, who was close by, began to softly smile at the snowpack.

"Here, adar. Let me." He intervened to help Ewon.

The Elfking watched this with an aspect of remove, as if it were coincidental to the direction he was facing, which was how Lusis knew that he longed for the thing he witnessed. What kind of son had Thranduil Oropherion been? Attentive, like Amathon? Peregrine, like Legolas? Unyielding, like Nimpeth? Or adoring like Eithahawn. Maybe all?

"We'll make decent time down the mountain," Redd said as he came out from the man-made cave. He was drawn, but had some colour in his cheeks this morning. He winked at Lusis as she came to check on him. He was quiet when he told her, "We can't linger. There's nothing green and growing for them to eat up here. They won't take dried meat. We're out of apples."

They set out.

The trip down from the spur was mercifully smooth. Rangers could run for hours on end, and elves could run for days. They passed out of the part of the mountain covered in perpetual snow, and Rangers took off their winter layers and tied the gear to their packs. Then they made for the timberline they could see below. As the gorse grew to shrubs, the shrubs to brush, and the brush to trees, the elves lost more and more of their tension. They were not far from the Great Greenwood now, and unlike most travelers in the world, the sight of that massive ocean of ancient trees whose towering giants were taller than castles, which ran from the foothills at the top of the world, unbroken, to thin in the Brown Lands and halt a stretch before Mordor, did not inspire the elves with a feeling of fear at all.

They were happy. But it was well into autumn here, and the cold came down with the sunset, and covered the world in slippery rime. The Rangers had grown exhausted.

Lusis felt dead on her feet. Her legs burned. Her lungs burned. She was not some indefatigable Elfprince rushing to the warm arms of his forest. And no matter how Radagast might handle such a long run – for they'd made very good time through the day, as only Rangers and elves could make – she was close to depletion when they stopped to refill their water at a hidden spring the elves had made in the lowland trees. It was ringed in thick blue spruce. None of the Rangers had ever seen it, in spite of the fact the well was comprised of a beautiful stone basin, amazingly round, and not unlike a large, smooth stone bath. The water was crystalline, and a beautiful marble elf girl sat on the edge of it with her legs curled under her, washing her long and sheer stone hair.

"Too bad she's not a real elf girl," Aric sighed when he looked at the beautiful figure.

Beside him, Amathon failed to suppress his smile in time. He was often taken off-guard by what the Rangers said. He smoothed his expression and glanced across at his wife, following this with a courteous little bow. Nimpeth helped lower her father to the stone benches that ran around the lip of the spring. She drew water into the white water skins the elves carried. Ewon bent forward to lean against the lip of the pool, wearied.

Redd stepped in close to Lusis, "He can't go much further, I don't think. The King is hale. He appears hale, but… he hasn't had but morsels for three days now… and the dragon's blood too. They're battered, worn… can you make them see sense, Lusis?"

"I don't know what is most sensible," she confessed to him. "But I do know we need to get Steed back from his family."

Icar joined in with, "Then we make a right here, and if we have to press on to Mirkwood, then Aric and I can go get Steed, or you can, Lusis, but we should try to convince the elves to stay put until we can, at least, get something they can eat from the Tatharion family."

They were, as yet, too far to the North for the elves of Mirkwood's storehouses. They were deeper in the woods, and unlocked, for the rescue of desperate winter travelers.

No one spoke for a moment. It was a different thing, the way they were Rangers and the way the man they called 'Steed' was. It was a world apart. For example, there had been an injection of elf blood in Steed's family four generations back, blood straight out of Rivendell. It wasn't uncommon of them. Two Tatharion children had been sired by an elf there. Steed was directly from the line of the half-elf woman of the pair. Her name was Ellethiel Tatharion to some. She knew her father's name, and often opted for the elven patronymic instead. She was still in residence at the Tatharion keep.

"You don't just stroll into Tatharion Keep and walk out with an elf-kin." Lusis sighed. "I wonder if they'll insist Steed stay with the family?"

"Well, we do have a rather big stick," Redd tipped his head in the direction of the King. He was watching them with his colourlessly blue eyes. "I think he'd manage it."

Off to one side, Aric glanced at Amathon. "Ah. Hear that, friend-Amathon? Unless you want to run your wife's-sire into the ground you'd better decide to go right from here."

Amathon's dark auburn head cocked, "The decision is in the proper hands, friend-Aric."

Aric muttered, "Then tell those hands we need to go to Tatharion House. You are all worn."

"Hm. The daughters and sons of the willow-tree." Amathon straightened and looked in the direction of rolling hills dotted with wintery spruce. "You fail to grasp that they are bosom friends of Elrond in Rivendell. Mirkwood elves have no place abiding with them." And his deep auburn hair, longer than the hair of most elves, fluttered around his steel as he looked at Ewon. "And yet…."

"Friend-Ewon would have a hot meal and a safe place to sleep." Aric noted. "The thing about the Tatharions that you should know is that they are very friendly to Eldar. And look at the Elfking, Amathon. He wears no sign of his station. Let's use this to our advantage."

"It is not my call to make."

Now Aric smiled at the tall, wine-haired elf. "I have seen you nudge the King before, always in the right direction, if you ask me. Besides we need to go to Tatharion Keep, Amathon. Steed is there."

The Elfking sipped water from his palm, he blinked his great long eyes slowly in the moonlight. The weight of so much dragon's blood, now soaked into the very fiber of his clothing still played on his consciousness. He fought to control the disturbance it caused in his nature, but it was coming time that he divest himself of everything dragon or consequences could be expected.

Lusis stepped up to him, "We need to get Steed Roanhead… as you know him. Will you allow for a slight divergence from your way back to The Halls?"

"No," he said. "The Halls await us. The Halls are safe." He shook his head a fraction. His thinking was unclear. Blood-clouded.

"Then I have to leave you with your Elites," she bowed to him.

"You may not," the King said loftily.

She glanced up at his large silver eyes and spoke slowly, "Of course I may."

They stood at this stalemate for a number of minutes, with the Elfking still and staring at her, and Lusis standing before him, very possibly as stubborn as he was. Then he reached out and folded her smaller hand in both of his own. She marveled at the suppleness of his skin, and the light in it. His clean flesh and well-kept nails. He was a beauty. And she made a sudden look up from his white fingers, because he was shaking.

She stepped closer to him, stared at his immaculate skin, his hair so smooth and polished that it resembled web-thin filaments of silver under moonlight, and the silvery disks of his eyes that were so pale and serene and commanding. She barely spoke above a whisper. "Let me take care of you."

He looked momentarily pained. His head dropped forward so that she could not see. It turned to the side in a combination of denial and consent, for he had oriented toward the way she'd wanted to go. Having revealed the extent of his weakness, he released her hand. She stepped back from him and looked at the grubby Rangers and drained elves around her. "I have spoken to the King. We will go to Tatharion from here." She glanced at Ewon. "It is to be kind to the injured."

If the King decided it, then there was no argument.

She looked back at him – at his thick travel clothes now stained dark red in blood – and wondered if he could make it home with them slowly cutting away at his ability to reason.

The band of them turned right under the moon, and didn't stop pressing ahead until they came to the tall cedar wood ramparts of Tatharion Keep. The walls were very tall and stout. It turned out the outer round cedar logs were packed with six feet of crushed stone and earth between yet another cedar layer, and this formed a wall walk. Inside, the wall was braced with oaken trunks, and segments of wall were riveted to one another. Lusis would later walk backwards to take this engineering in.

Armoured guards along the wall-walk called out to hail them before they came onto the gate-road. "You are at Tatharion. May the gods help you if you mean to cause trouble in this Keep. What is your purpose this late night?"

"Shelter, Rangers." Lusis told them. "There are Rangers down from Buckmaster Keep. Elves."

Heads popped over the top of the wood wall. "Elves?"

"Of Mirkwood," said the King, coldly. "Do not question us. Open your gates. One edhel among us is lately injured by the thoughtless and negligent arrows of Men. Will you stand on the walls of your Keep and do insult as well?" He pushed back his hood and his long, silvery hair billowed in the autumn breeze. His skin fairly gleamed against the moonlit night.

It was possible to hear the gasp from the road below, as one guard exclaimed. "Open the gates." The hinges groaned wide enough for them to come in, three abreast. The guards stared down at the Elfking as he went in. Even under his hood, his hair and skin shone with the light of the moon. He was flanked by cloaked Ewon, Amathon, and Nimpeth, and they drew all attention from the Rangers who went before and behind them.

The gates shut with a metallic clang. Ahead of them was a long stretch of flat, green land, dotted in oak trees. At some distance sat a large hall whose doors were yawning light and heat into the air, even this late. The King glanced aside at Lusis and lifted his hood up to cover his hair again. He stepped back a fraction and she knew this meant she should go into the lead. The Elfking, Thranduil, was a friend to Men. He considered them all his kindred. But he was not always so good at handling them directly. Aside from which, this was a realm of Dunedain.

Lusis brought them past Dunedain guards on the steps and led the phalanx of elves into the Keep. She stepped aside once she was inside the door.

Her King went up tiers of steps toward the firelight.

The table wrapped the top of the large room, a square with the bottom cut from it.

Travelers sat along the lower end of the wings.

The greater table at the front was reserved for the Tatharions and their guests.

All three fires in the Keep leapt up in their grates when the Elfking went in.

Wind circled the room like a great bird.

At the uppermost table a young woman stood. She had long, dark brown rings of hair, and pale skin and eyes. Her motions were… confusing. She was human in her basic appearance, but her motions and her features looked elven. Silence fell in the room. "Who are you, traveler? That you make our fires dance? That you sweep the room with the wings of a dragon? You carry darkness about your shoulders."

Lusis bared her teeth at the word and muttered to Redd, "I don't want to take issue with this woman, but if she says that again…."

The Elfking took down his hood and moved deeper into the room. "You have the look of a Noldorian. Are you peredhel, young lady?"

"I am." She began to walk down along the table. Men got up from their meals, pulled swords, and walked with her. "Who are you, dark one?"

The Elfking's chin rose a fraction. "Of late, I have slain dragons. It is their blood and beguilement you sense. That is the scent like lightning in air. It is a darkness not of my making." He opened his long arms and bowed between them, his fine, long hair spilling around him, and his eyes hidden away under dark eyelashes. He straightened slowly.

The woman's eyes narrowed, "I am… unconvinced of that." As she drew closer it was possible to see that she had round ears, but that her pupils were just slightly oblong. Lusis found her utterly unsettling.

And threatening. She glanced aside at Redd, took out her sword, and stepped in front of the King. She sank down with her knees unlocked and ready for a charge. Redd mimicked her on the Elfking's other flank.

"Peace," said the Elfking.

"No. I'll take her if she-"

"Lusis. Peace." His quivering fingertips brushed her stooped shoulder. It made her worry for him all the greater, but Lusis knew better than to disobey him when it came to matters like this. So she came up from her crouch and let her elf-steel sword dangle beside her. Redd did as she did.

The girl's head came up, "You are full of ill portent, strange elf. And gloom. One might expect as much from a Moriquendi."

The Elfking's head rose again. His white teeth were bared. "Am I to be called such, by a half-elf?"

Her head tipped and she smiled tightly, not elven enough. Definitely inhuman. "We have late slain a ring-lord who was an evil beauty. He was an elf, was he not? Am I to let one such as yourself into my hall?"

The Elfking's hair glimmered, "Do not mistake the dragon-slayer for the dragon." He lowered his voice and spoke to Redd and Lusis, "Wargs have more sense than this child. And, Rangers, put up your swords and do not dignify her puerile threats, we are elves of the Great Greenwood."

The half-elf laughed, which was too human a thing for her features. And not. She stepped around the table and toward him, and the Elfking went to meet her with elves and Rangers flanking him.

"You smell like a monster pretending at an elf." Her sword came out. It was a long curve of elf-steel. "I see no need to invite you in." She lashed it at him.

The Elfking's pale hand moved in a blur. It struck the flat of the blade and held fast. She tried to yank it free of him, but it would not come. In fact, it did not budge even to shake or bend in his grip. She released it and backed away into her Dunedain kin. The Elfking turned the blade and took the hilt of it. "Rivendell. Two thousand years ago. Made at Elrond's forges. Its stamp marks it – crossed leaves and the star of his metal makers, but without the intertwined bows." He tossed the sword onto the floor where it landed with a terrific clatter. His eyes had found Steed, pale-faced, hurrying down the room toward the Elfking.

"Beware, Inilfain!" the half-elf made a grab for him. But Steed, who was cleaner than Lusis had ever seen him, clean-shaven, and looked more like an Eldar than she would have thought possible for him, stopped in front of the King and bowed.

He straightened and turned to incline his head at the half-elf, "My lady, this is the – I know this elf. He is a great slayer of dragons. He is no monster."

Lusis glanced between them at this. Had Steed told her the story of Lammia's look-alike second-skin, and the might of her beguilement? Or… where was this concern coming from? Had they also seen the likes of Lammia here – a being she'd never even heard-tell of from Redd?

Ellethiel's voice became harsh, "What is his name?"

The Elfking said, "Thranduil."

She spun toward the tall Elfking and backed away. "The Shrewd One? The Doom of Dragons? Despised of the Lonely Mountain? Scourge at Dol Guldur? Friend of Men, and Elfking… of the Woodland Realm." A stir passed through the room. Men and women at the tables rose to see the elf that Ellethiel spoke about as she came to a stop beside her men, one of whom had fetched her sword from the flagstones. The beautiful half-elf's head tilted. "And, Moriquendi, this is still my hall."

Steed glanced from Ellethiel over to Lusis with his upswept eyes widening in surprise. He hadn't expected this reaction from his aged relative.

The half-elf turned and pulled her cloak around her, "You may have the night in the open hall, King of Mirkwood. But your ever-busy head is a labyrinthine maze, and the sound of your step upon the stone is the thunder of trouble coming. Do not… linger." She walked away and her men went with her. They all were of some elf blood, and so they looked back at their elven 'guests' with an air of curiosity and, some, regret.

Thranduil turned to Ewon. "I smell like a monster," he said lightly. "Would you like to discuss?"

Inside his hood, Ewon began to smile. "At least, my Greatest Moriquendi King, you have a lovely peredhel woman, here, capable of comprehending that you are full of convolutions. I like ever-busy-head. I shall use that. For a few centuries."

Aric glanced over the collected and told Steed. "I take it he has a reputation?"

"He does here," Steed said quietly. "These elves all came of Rivendell's bloodlines, and, through them, they feel closer to Lorien. They have… opinions about Mirkwood elves. And the Sinda King among them, so powerful and so crafty," he bowed to the King and left off there.

Now the white-blond elf exhaled, "This suspicion is something they learned at Lord Elrond's knee. In him… it has become a pliant kind of vigilance. In them, it has hardened to mistrust."

The Elfking tipped backward and shut his eyes. "Powers." He sighed and turned toward Lusis. "Little galad, please decide me on one thing."

Lusis absorbed yet another epithet of his for her with as much grace as she could muster – little light made her sound like a child – and patiently asked him, "What would that be, my King?"

His snake's tongue of sword, actually named Lyglim, Serpent's Tongue, flashed out and pointed directly into the face of an approaching man. The King said, "Whether I should cut these saplings of yours down. Or not."

"Fires, call him off, Lusis!"

She turned to see Remee at the end of the Elfking's sword. Elsenord looked on, distressed. Of all the boys in the family, Else had been the one Lusis had thought would one day run off to the Northern Hoard, possibly in trade for Redd. She hadn't imagined him betraying a Buckmaster Chieftain to chase down the mountain after her.

She winced and hurriedly told the King. "No. This pair did nothing to betray us."

He lowered his sword and tipped his head as he drew in on them. His expression became all but glassine with the seeming of welcome and warmth. His voice was slow, controlled, and deeply musical. "If you can be trusted, as Lusis-sell yet believes, you shall dwell safely amongst us. But trouble my elves, or my Rangers of the North, and I will allow to pass whatever fate they choose for you. Harass this young woman such as I witnessed of that martinet you call brother and leader, and she shall see a great increase in her bloodline, for I will slice each one of you into three. Is that clear?"

Lusis ducked her head, "They didn't do anything-"

"They didn't look for friend-Lusis to help her, either," Nimpeth said coldly. She glanced across at Lusis. "The King has been informed of this."

Remee said nothing. He'd hardly moved a muscle since the Elfking had drawn in on him. Elsenord nodded carefully, "My, uh," he wasn't sure of the address for a moment, until Redd helped him with a mutter, "Oh, Elfking, your words are clear."

"Be aware of them," the Elfking said to her, and then turned to Steed. "Baths."

Lusis brightened immediately. It didn't matter that she wasn't technically invited, or that no one immediately thought of her when the Elfking suggested it. If there was a bath, she was going.

"Of course. Let me prepare the bathhouse," Steed, who looked far too elven now that he wasn't filthy and covered in hair, turned toward Lusis. "This house will feed you, Lusis, and the elves. Settle by the fire. I'll see to the rest."

The King began his stately pacing. It was his default when waiting or thinking.

She glanced over the room, none of whom were terribly interested in a band of Messenger Men, and then turned to her trio of brothers, "Where are Lonnan, Tira, and Irin?"

"They've remained at Buckmaster Keep." Said Elsenord. "They'll be feeding us information, I can promise you that. We rode hard for Tatharion when we lost you in the wilds. Kirstman may not have known who 'Steed Roanhead' really is, but I certainly did."

"It won't take him long to learn either," said Remee. "We can't remain here long. That half-elf was almost right when she said that she could hear the thunder of trouble coming on the flags of this house. But it's your boot-heels she should've worried for."

"Why is that?" she started after the Elfking.

Elsenord nodded at his big brother. "I'll walk her down and explain."

They followed Steed, the Elfking, Redd, and the Elites on the way down a closed-in hall. At the end, they turned and started down a stone spiral of stairs into a basement steaming with bathwaters. Rather than tubs like one would find in the Buckmaster Keep, there were long slats cut in the stone floor and hot water bubbled through pipes laid into them. Lusis smiled and opened her arms in greeting. Hail to you, clean!

"Oh, you're in your element," Elsenord laughed at her, he settled on the warm stone with his back to the pool she selected, though it was so foggy with heat in here that he might have sat and kicked his feet in the water without knowing if he was talking to Lusis or the King.

Lusis stripped off her boots and clothes quickly and sank into the bath with a sigh. "So tell me. What is it?"

"We ran down here as quickly as we could. I'm not sure how we passed you-"

"I went to find the King." She leaned back in the tub and let the hot water get at her scalp. "Six worm-heads, he killed. That's a type of dragon, Elsenord. He slew the last – it must have carried him off," she sat up when she realized she didn't know how he'd come to climb so high with the dragon. "He was nearly on the summit of Bregolnag when he took the last. Rather than die of exhaustion in the cold, he crawled into a pool of dragon's blood to keep from freezing."

"I imagine that sort of thing is why Miss Ellethiel called him crafty."

"I suppose so," she sank back again. "Believe me, it's not the cleverest thing I've seen him do. He is wickedly smart, brother. Kirstman's cunning and intrigues are no match." She looked into the fog and glimpsed the motion of the elves. They helped peel away the blood-soaked clothes the King wore. It sounded uncomfortable judging by the soft, heated, elvish from that way. But the hazy figure of the Elfking began to light that corner. He was a soft, foggy radiance that descended into baths. Lusis turned away at once, and sank down in her pool with her face hot. Well, yes. Just… let him luxuriate. Her lips flattened to a line. Let him wash away the last of that worm-head's foulness.

She inhaled through her nose and blew bubbles from her mouth.

Her brother made no bones of looking into the thick fog at the light of the King. He blinked and nearly turned toward Lusis, but caught himself. "What? Is he glowing?"

"He… he's an Elfking, Else. He's full of bright power. In Westron, it's called King's Light, or King's Fire." She longed to see the fullness of that flame turning inside his torso again, to see the light leap up from his chest and shine at the base of his throat.

He stared out over the intervening steaming pools. Lusis did too. She could make out that the King put his head back on the lip of black stone. Fingers of faintly glowing mist rose above him. Then he sank downward until even his hair vanished into the water. Elsenord blinked, "I've never seen it before. The light… it's wholesome."

"I'm not sure you should be staring at it right now," she pointed out. His head whipped around and he looked at the floor.

"Ah, but maybe if Ellethiel herself could see it, she would change her opinions." His brows went up. "Tell me, one day, how you managed to meet a great Elfking?"

She was a year younger than he was, but he often treated her like a big sister. Lusis smiled in the heat of the pool and nodded. "So I shall."

"Okay…. So you need to know that Kirstman is working to secure power on the mountain, power in the North, right now. You weren't out of the Keep for thirty minutes before we had a dispatch from the Garrison clan," he suppressed the urge to look at her expression. For one, he couldn't see it, for another, she was his sister and he was sitting by her bathtub. Which was awkward to begin with.

Lusis had visions of Lindy telling her mother and father she'd nearly frozen by hounding Lusis like a forlorn puppy. "What about?"

"It was Koil Garrison. Eldest son of the Garrisons. They've got men under steel at Garrison fort, he said, and the message he sent was that he and the Spayard clan would not recognize Kirstman. The message said that if you set foot back on Buckmaster Spur they would pledge blood and sword to you."

The water sloshed when she sat up. "What?" She leaned back in the water, but said nothing for a moment. "Koil Garrison is throwing the Garrisons and Spayards behind me? Me… surely not as the leader of the Buckmasters?" That role had come out of long history as the province of men.

"Kirstman needs to control the threat you pose, Lusis. And, let me tell you, he's in shock, right now. He didn't expect this – for people to decide you were fit to lead us all. It's… it's embarrassing for him. You're not our blood. Not a Buckmaster. Not a man." Elsenord took a deep breath.

She turned her head fractionally, afraid to look at him. "Else… I won't take anything from this family. I may not be one of you by birth, but… but I am by pride. I am by dignity."

"Can you be a Dunedain by dignity?" he asked with a bleat of forlorn mirth.

"He was my father too." She navigated that last statement a bit tightly. "He said-"

"Lusis, you probably have no edhel blood. No… no elf blood." Elsenord told her.

She stopped breathing for a moment. "No elf blood." She repeated dully.

Elsenord put his head down. "Kirstman is talking about this. That counts to him. It counts. It does. To too many people of the North, with the elves leaving."

"I don't want to lead you," she blinked in the blanketing mist, glad for its opacity.

"That's the irony," he said. "To some of the people on that spur, you are the truest Northern Ranger they've known. You've been years in running skirmishes. You've-"

"That's a little much, Else." She scoffed and paddled hot water around. She mimicked Kirstman's too-proper voice, "And what are her qualifications? She can run for miles. Has been in rolling battles her adult life." Lusis laughed, "That sort of thing doesn't prepare you to lead."

"You lead a troop."

She suddenly grinned, "But they're odd." The Hoard librarian, the budding artist, the loudmouth gambler, and the elf-blooded, rich-boy Tatharion. She fit right in. It made her warm. She looked across at the tall elves moving in the mist. They made her feel warm too.

Else almost turned to look at her. "Lusis, quite seriously now… there are bar songs about you, and not the naughty kind – I'd kill them. Oh, and I, myself, once saw you slap an Orc – just ride in and slap him right off his Warg like it was too much bother to kill him." Else started to laugh. He had to wipe his eyes when he remembered the looks on the Rangers' faces. And the Orcs'.

"That was different. That was a dare." She kicked water at him. "Tiranord's fault."

"Yes well, no one would actually do it." He got up and shook water off his oiled leather overcoat. "People remember these things, Lusis. You're strong. They can see you're strong. That strength has the power to split the stone of Buckmaster Spur in half."

"You're telling me…" she looked at him, suddenly seeing. "You're telling me not to go back. That I can't be there anymore. Ever."

"I'm not telling you anything of the sort," he exhaled and paced beside the tub. He looked at the toes of his shabby boots. "I… I'm telling you the truth. That's all."

She picked up her hair, which was becoming distressingly lighter, and rung it out. She thought of Young Thranduil lying across the mangled body of Oropher, unable to hold in the proud blood. Truth was a hard thing. It was a yoke to bear. She inhaled deeply and said, "I won't split our family in the middle, or cause infighting at our Keep. I'm not that singular a person, Else."

"Oh, yes you are." He stood up and stretched in the mist. "And no matter what they used to say about you, no matter what Kirstman has to say about men and women, blood and clay. I know I would follow you." He moved. Tall, strong, and in rugged clothes in silhouette. She could see his sturdy profile in the fog. His head bent. He touched his chest, and his hand swung out and didn't stop until it very nearly pointed at her.

The Dunedain had adopted that warm and welcoming gesture from the elves, and they saved it up for those they greatly honoured. Now, off to her right, the soft, sibilant elf chatter had died. When she turned her head, the Elites were all looking their way. She sank down in her tub as her brother left, not at all eager to be seen, altogether, by Amathon or Ewon. She would never survive it if she happened to be glimpsed by the Elvenking. So, of course, she'd taken the pool nearest the exit.

The voice close to her was Nimpeth, but it still made her jolt. "Lusis-sell." She laid down bath sheets. "You have a moment before we take him out." She withdrew.

"Take him out? He's like pot-roast," Lusis said to herself, she blinked in the direction of his pool. She got up into the sheets and watched Nimpeth turn away from the King as he emerged. This seemed to be something she did more out of a sense of needing to guard the door than modesty. Lusis could scarcely see him from where she stood. Then lamplight flashed off the sculpted divot in his shoulder and his pale head came up. Ewon swept back his hair and squeezed it.

For her, watching him begin to rise from the bath was like watching the sun come up.

Lusis caught up her clothes and rushed into one of the rooms off to the side, which were used for dressing. She pulled on her clothes hastily. She had soaked and scrubbed the dirt and blood from some of them, and was quite used to allowing them to dry on her skin in front of a fire. She didn't look into the baths again as she exited. The Elfking would be dressing, and, unlike her, not very overly worried who might see him. It was a strange thing. Elves were private. Elves were pure. Profoundly so. Their apparent lack of modesty about their bodies extended only to a small collection of trusted humans, and their own kind. The concept of nakedness being shameful had largely missed them.

She hurried up to sit on the hearth beside one of the fires, and, after several minutes, she sank down to the stone floor and put her head onto the edge of Aric's lap. He stroked her wet hair.

Lusis went straight to sleep.

It had been a hard few days.

Aric nudged her. She came blurrily, quietly awake. She glanced at the room and immediately saw a cluster of Rangers around the King.

"What do they want?" she yawned and sat up to lean on Aric's arm. "He's so tall. He makes them look like finger-food and they're his own blood." She pushed her hair back. It wasn't yet dry. She'd been asleep – or whatever it was she did now – for less than two hours.

"No they're not. Well… not his bloodline, anyway," Icar leaned over her. He was sketching the scene. He waved Redd's approach out of the way. He had a new sketchbook and a decent set of pencils now. They seemed to be eating holes in his travel bag. He went back to his quick circling. In the hour, those circles would turn into the King and several Dunedain. "I figured that was why that pretty half-elf called him a name."

Rangers didn't generally walk from place to place, they ran. So when Amathon followed Redd through the echoic wood room and Lusis saw he carried a pitcher in his graceful hands, she hoped it was water and not wine. A long day of ranging around depleted the body in ways that wine couldn't put back. Steed came behind Amathon. He carried a stack of wooden cups.

"Water?" Lusis asked the tall elf.

"Water." Aric looked excited, "Ask if it's beer."

Amathon looked confused and entertained. "I am carrying it, friends. I did not press the grapes."

Lusis wasn't the only one to laugh. Amathon folded down among them, and was lost in a veil of his dark red hair, itself the colour of red wine. "Ai. So long," he caught it up and executed a thick braid just beneath his ear. His fingers moved so fast it was stunning.

"I could cut it for you," Aric took out a knife.

"Thank you for that offer," Amathon gave a small incline. His expression shifted softly as he poured and a stream of fresh water tumbled out. He was pleased. "But you would become injured."

Icar smiled and chuckled, "Oh, you can trust him with a knife, friend-Amathon."

Now Amathon's bright pleasant face turned up toward Icar. "Someone else you can trust with a knife? Nimpeth-bess."

"Ouch," Aric put the blade away. "That kind of trouble I do not need." He chuckled and nodded his head. "But well done, Amathon."

Amathon's brows went up. There was much about human communications he didn't understand, and it would never have occurred to him that Aric was congratulating him for pleasing his own wife. Amathon poured another cup full of water, and this one he handed over to Aric with a little head-bow. "Water, friend-Aric."

"And good company," Aric nodded in reply.

"Le fael." Said the red-haired elf. He glanced at his tall, black-haired wife. She stood like a marble figurehead just within reach of the approaching King.

Redd ate a rolled piece of goat and asked, "Moriquendi – that name Ellethiel called him – it isn't an insult, is it?" To his mind it was unlikely because no one would dare.

Amathon's head turned slowly away and downward. The action was subtle, and disguised in his filling the next cup. "It is a system… and we are within that system." He gave a deliberate little nod and began to hand a cup to Icar, but diverted and set it beside him instead. Amathon did not like to disturb the young Ranger when he was drawing, and was endlessly curious about human arts. His head tipped a little, impatient to see.

Lusis shifted to watch him. She had never seen an elf nod. What did it mean? She looked to Redd next, as he was about to continue.

"It's hard to understand for me. When I was young, I thought there were three types of elf. The Vanyar, the Noldor, and the Teleri. But there are more. There are Sindar and Silvan… what about that?" Redd laid down a platter full of goat meat. "And how does this tie into the ancient stories I've read about two trees so tall that they held the sun and moon in their branches? It appears to be important."

The Elfking arrived in a sweep of long, autumn-gold clothes. It was not for travelling, not for charging around the woods, this grand outfit, the cape and coat train were so long they pooled behind him, and the stitching of leaves along the hem and chest of the coat was excellent – looking like the real thing in bright red and gold colours. He appeared to be walking in a cloud of sailing leaves. "Amathon, you may leave."

The guard got up, bowed, and went immediately. The King folded down beside Lusis' legs, where the Elite had been, except, scrubbed, shining in gold thread, and dressed in fineries most would never, in their lifetimes, behold, he looked unearthly. He bent toward the plate, his actions precise and delicate, his white-golden head swaying to one side from the other, both supple and strange. "Men… and meat."

Redd was appalled. "I'm so sorry, my King," he sputtered. "I assumed they would have insisted you break your fast with the high-heads of Tatharion."

"That would be a likely assumption," the King sat back on his heels, "anywhere else." Then his silver eyes narrowed. "I am overestimating the forbearance of others."

"This slight is their fault," Lusis scoffed at the notion.

His long hands folded. "There is much activity here, Lusis-sell."

She shrugged in his direction. "Respectfully, my King, you might have noticed there is much activity anywhere there are many Rangers."

"Does… does it not seem odd to you, Lusis-sell? Your house is thrown into turmoil." He stuck a fingertip onto the plate of meat and looked at the juice. "This house has so lately barred its gates, and it takes its meals deep in the quiet hours, when the roads are abandoned by Men, and all nearby travelers who might need their help are encamped inside its walls. Do you know the hour? A Goblin King might rest its eyes: It is very late." He touched his fingertip to his tongue and his pale lips pressed together. He shook his head out in a most extemporaneous motion – his hair fluttering like silk – the action of an insulted cat. The Kings' brows drew down. "Ai. Do you like this for eating, Lusis Buckmaster? Can it be so?"

She smothered a smile and handed him a cup of water. His brow arched at it. "There is wine at the upper table." He glanced up at the head table full of Rangers. Many of them were watching him closely too. He raised his glass to them, returned his attention to the Rangers, and let his eyes widen a little. "Reprobates." He sipped the water.

Aric couldn't contain the scoff. "The undue opinions of elves."

"Mm," purred the Elfking's voice. It sounded like agreement, as if he knew full-well that he was taxing and frequently a trial to the patience of Men. He just didn't care. They vexed him, mightily, and he hadn't an apology from the King of Men yet, after all. He was the only Elfking left in Middle Earth, and that was what it would take, Lusis bet.

She shook her head at him, and swallowed her smile. The elf was shameless.

Then the King turned to Redd, and his voice became thoughtful and patient, like that of a father, "On the subject of which… we must not speak in terms of Calaquendi and Moriquendi to the people of the Great Greenwood. I know you have learned these words from the Great Hoard. You do not fully understand their weight."

Redd set down his glass, "I don't understand."

"The words, they are meant as…." His Weston failed him at that moment. There was no word or description he easily called to mind for it that wasn't Sindarin or Quenya. The Elfking's golden head tipped toward the Elites who now spoke together in a tight ring so that hair spilled around him in a fan. His silver eyes watched the Silvan. Then he restarted along a path that he hoped would be simpler.

"In the West… there live elves that are known as the Three Kindred. They are called the fair-ones, Vanyar, the wise-ones, Noldor, and the last-ones, Teleri. They all woke, as all of the very first elves did, upon this middle-land. But many of their kind soon set off for a light they could see across the open water. Now, the Teleri were the largest group and some of them left, as made sense, since the Teleri are sea elves, but they were so very many that a great number of them also remained behind. We waited for our High King, in fact. And we became known as the Sindar – the grey-ones, the elves at twilight. We waited on a broad plain full of forests… the place where I was born. It was a garden of sunrise far to the West, full of art, and songs, elves, all manner of things. It was later sundered in war, and is now sunken under the sea forever, where one may glimpse the ruins of the First Age."

He paused for a breath and looked, momentarily, unhappy. It was gone when his moonlight eyes rose up again. "But elves are not of a like mind, Redd. They also have their opinions. And there were those who did not even progress as far as that plane of perpetual twilight. They set out, as they all set out, I am told, this being before my time, but when some came to the Misty Mountains, which had no name at that time, they feared its cold heights. They turned back or refused the call of the Two Trees. They went into the great forest, lost in the shadows of the mountains, and there was little light for them there, but for the stars. There, I assure you, they made their own arts, their own music, and they loved the starlight and were good. They were beneath the consideration of the Kindred. They came by the names Avari. Or Nandor. The unwilling. The refusers. In the system, they are not considered Eldar. The Three Kindred call them dark-elves. The Sinda people, we grey-elves who, in the end, did not cross, are sometimes counted among them. That is what Moriquendi is. Do you understand?"

Redd blinked at him, stunned. "Silvan elves. Are not considered Eldar?"

"Isn't not-Eldar the same as not being an elf?" Icar asked curiously. "Because look at them… they sure as the Fires aren't humans. What do these Three Kindred think they are?"

"One does not know. One… does not speculate." Thranduil set down his empty cup, and his long lashes fluttered in sudden discomfiture. "One shall stand firm in the woodlands unto the End of All Things if it is required. For they are not some nameless life. They are the children of the stars. They are good Erusen and smitten with the lights of Elbereth. They are elves and shall not be forsaken."

For a moment there was quiet, and then Redd said, "That's… a mammoth fight to face alone."

"It is just time," he said quietly. His golden head tipped back in their direction. He sounded endlessly tolerant, and endlessly frustrated. "Just time."

Lusis' head rose. "And he won't face it alone, Redd. What's more, the only alternative would be to give up the struggle. That is unthinkable."

Beside her, the Elfking took in her profile and his chin came down in soft assent.

"They chose a warrior for their King. The great Elfking, Oropher," his head inclined, "was once merely a great general of Elwe. Silvan walked past Lords and Ladies to ask him to lead them, and they crowned me after. They did this, they keep me, as I am, so they can be lifted up. So that they can be counted among their own kind. But I know them. They do not need lifting. I do not believe they are any less good." He rose from his crouch, in a tall, radiant wash of forest scent. He looked down at them. "I do not believe they are less authentic. It is a law of writ within the trees of my Kingdom that the system handed down to us by the Kindred is not to be used against, or among, my people. My son is, in half, exactly what they are. As is Eithahawn. And Moriquendi is a term of opprobrium." His noble head turned to take in the Noldorian half-elf who stared at him from the high table. "Alae. We find no comfort, no welcome, among people who believe in such an antiquation."

"Also no wine," Aric scoffed.

The King looked at him, his eyes momentarily surprised, and his cheek dimpled just slightly around a more genuine than average elven smile.

"Which brings me to the question," Lusis stretched her legs and licked meaty juice and flecks of peppery salt off her fingers. "What are you up to, my King?"

His expression transformed to its glass doll facade of virtuousness, as unsophisticated as a newly budded flower. His head tipped a fraction. His voice was very soft. "Could it be… that you are learning?"

The Rangers stopped eating, stopped drinking, they glanced between Lusis to the King and she got to her feet and dusted off. "Is… is there anything you can share?"

He gazed at her a moment, and his glassine surface – that serene disguise – diminished. His pale eyes narrowed a fraction, and the pupils in those great silver disks of his, dilated. He tugged his bottom lip at one corner in his teeth and his upper body tilted back a fraction. She couldn't look away from this beautiful foreigner with her King's face. It was like the opening of a steel lily. She could fairly see the system of weights, wheels, and counterweights, like the machinery that drove the great gates, doors, and barriers of Mirkwood, but small enough to live in his thoughts.

All of this broke when his expression closed. He listed right, and his great eyes averted down. No. He couldn't share. He turned and started away.

Lusis felt her hands fist up. She gritted her teeth and advanced on him, her voice low. "That's your answer to every appeal, you realize. Thousands of years of refusal. Stars, will you put your faith in someone? Or do you not ever risk it anymore?" She caught control of herself before she could truly wind up into an argument. She'd had shouting matches with him before. At him. The great King of Mirkwood did not raise his voice.

No sound emerged from the men around her.

The King froze where he stood.

Steed quietly hinged his jaw shut.

When the King began to walk away again, Lusis opened her arms and exhaled. "What good am I to you?" She was widely thought to be his Istari – though he was too careful to make that assessment. An Istari he didn't trust.

He pivoted and stalked back to her, his head tilting over in sudden anger and he bent to her face. "You are a child, and you do not understand what it is I am and do." For his part, the King seemed shocked. His eyes widened, he sucked in a deep breath and backed away from her as if she'd struck him. His chest worked at air.

Ewon went to him, "My King, a moment?"

He smoothed immediately. "Yes, of course." His long eyes averted as he turned into the company of his Elites and they went for the doors. Elsenord rose from where he'd been sitting a little apart from them. Remee climbed to his feet and nodded, amiably, to the high table. They seemed quite interested in the King's outburst. Even with all the activity in the room, all of it louder than anything that had transpired here, they hadn't missed that.

"Lusis," he nodded in the direction of the King. "There are travelers of every imaginable stripe out there. We should follow him."

"He doesn't want us to follow him. When he wants me to follow him, he-"

"Lass," Remee shook his head, "To the guard, it doesn't matter what the King wants, only what he needs. And, did you hear him? That big, silver elf of yours, he is – without a single doubt – a King."

She shook herself. Remee – the voice of sanity. She could not allow herself to get caught in the vortex that whirled around the king, the one that kept him at the storm's eye, in seclusion. There were decisions he would make for himself out of habit, out of care. Mistakes he preferred to make so that he could maintain the protection, the comfort, of long isolation. And she couldn't allow it. Lusis nodded at her big brother and the Buckmasters turned, as one, and walked for the door. She glanced back and found her Ranger troop coming behind her.

"Which way?" she huffed in the crisp autumn night air. She couldn't see them in the moonlit, blue darkness striped by the shadows of trees.

"That one is easy," Redd chuckled and laid a hand on her shoulder. "Any way. It's you he will safeguard. It's you he'll come to, Lusis."

Remee glanced down at his smaller sister. "I… I confess I don't understand. Does… is there something between the pair of you?"

She exhaled slowly. "Something." She agreed to this even though it embarrassed her, and turned decisively. "I'm not ready to talk about it yet, Remee. You'll have to trust me," she looked aside at Elsenord, "it is not a small thing, and – as far as this is possible for someone like him – he's made his feelings perfectly clear."

Elsenord's hazel eyes widened. "Oh, has he?"

"Whatever you're imagining… it's not that simple." Aric chuckled at that. "No method of his is perfectly clear."

"I see him," Steed said into the middle of this.

"No you don't." Lusis turned to him waspishly.

He smiled at her. "Sorry, Lusis. My eyes are better than average in low light so… yes I do."

She trudged along beside Steed's light step. Could she see in the dark? Could she walk across falling leaves without telling the world she was coming? Was she able to calm wild horses and bring them to serve her? No. She could turn her dark hair two different colours. Istari.

There was no way the Elfking could have missed their arrival.

She stopped perhaps twenty feet from his position with the Elites, and then opened her arms and pointed in either direction. Her Rangers, and her brothers walked along an arc and made a wide ring around the elves. Each second man faced outwards, the rest minded the elves. All the Rangers kept naked blades in hand.

The Elfking largely ignored her, and the collective presence of her troop. He spoke to Ewon as Nimpeth and Amathon stood opposite one another, about five feet away from them. Lusis stared at him and did not relent. She watched his lips moving and wished she could hear them.

The crackling of passage alerted them all, but Ellethiel and her Tatharions were closer than any of Lusis' troop had been able to reckon, save Steed.

"What's this?" Steed called out to his kin. "You do know this elf you harass?" He was furious.

Ellethiel Tatharion was taller than Lusis, and quiet like a fawn. She aimed her steel at Thranduil. "Did we not put you by our hearth, King of craftiness? What cause have you to leave?"

Thranduil turned from Ewon. "I am an elf. I like the woods and growing things."

"You want your privacy, busy-head," she told him. "But you are a dangerous man to have abroad, a dangerous one to leave unaccompanied and to his own devices."

Steed shook his head, "Ellethiel, he is hardly alone. He is ringed by Rangers."

Her head swung to the right as she came to him, so that she could look him in the pale eyes. "Yes, and this one is fully supported by these Men, Inilfain. And you now number among them, sadly. But all are party to whatever madness he concocts, for you know little enough what the mind of an ancient elf is like. And he, among ancient elves, is considered sharp."

The Elfking stepped up to the tip of her sword, his hands behind his long back. He bent over her a little. "Are you suggesting I should return inside, young one?"

Her teeth bared. "Return to the hearth where we can mind you, now. If you try to evade our-"

A cry came from the wood ramparts, "Open the gates!" One of the Rangers ran along the walk in the dark. "Get them open, lads!"

The half-elf woman looked suddenly vexed. "No."

But the Elfking brushed the tip of Ellethiel's blade aside and went in the direction of the gates as if he had dismissed a child with a wood sword. Lusis jogged beside his long strides. The great wood gates of Tatharion were arched layers of oak and cedar bound together with riveted bands of steel. They groaned in the night, and travelers in from the road rabbited toward the Keep. Unlike their human brethren, Rangers spread out at the ready, bristling with weaponry, Lusis glanced to her left and right to get the context of her neighbors – four Ranger women braced themselves close by her. Half a dozen more scattered through the crowd. The Tatharions lived by elven rules. If a woman's skills led her to the sword, then she was trained into a fighter in earnest. She relaxed into a ready fighting posture.

"Take the King inside," Ellethiel commanded.

Amathon stepped in the way of the Tatharion advance, and Nimpeth pulled an arrow to knock. It was the elf-woman who replied. "No."

The King, meanwhile, stood beside her without even his sword in his hand, one of Ewon's long arms pressed across his ribs, ready to pull him away.

In position, they waited. Night sounds stopped.

A low rolling of noise – impossible to distinguish – began to rise beyond the gates.

"Horses," the King whispered in the dark. He turned his head and gave Steed a slow nod.

Steed had never been given a direct command by the King before. He stepped forward uncertainly, and Lusis walked away from the line of Rangers with him. She didn't know that the King had joined them until the horses thundered in. they were all greys, some of them nearly white, and some thickly dappled, and their eyes rolled to show the whites. The mare in the lead reared and whistled. She took a sudden step toward Lusis before she set her hooves down in the churned soil and torn grass of the herd's pawing and restiveness. Lusis had counted the nails in the crease of that horse's left shoe.

The Elfking snapped Lusis back to him so quickly she bounced off his chest and came to a rest beside him. His pale eyes were wide as he glanced aside at her; it was a look that said everything. She winced and gestured at the horse's head. "Bridle. Saddle. No rider. No blood. It's possible they bolted."

The horses milled and panted for air, their flanks steamed with sweat, and their arched necks dripped foam in the crisp night air. Steed stepped in and the mare's head came down low. Her grey ears swung back. She might have bitten anyone else. But she stopped in front of Steed, and slowed. He opened his arms and inclined his head to her. The other horses grouped around the mare, aware of her in that way of horses. Steed stepped back from the horse.

She eased a step forward toward him. Then Steed simply turned to the gathering of Rangers and elves on the lawn. He walked to the Elfking and the dappled mare followed. Her long ears flickered. Behind her, several of the horses sorted themselves out. One nipped a white horse aside to follow and Steed glanced back empathetically. Calm descended over shuddering, steaming horseflesh, like pasture-blankets. The dappled mare set her chin on Steed's shoulder as she looked at the Elfking.

"How are they?" The Elfking asked Steed.

The horse-whisperer nodded at the King and glanced at the pale horse beside him. "She likes you – the light of you, Elfking. It's like the face of the moon. They find it soothing, and a calm family is easier on her. She's in charge."

The Elfking's head tipped at the odd-eyed grey mare. One of her eyes was black and the other ice-blue. "Do you know what happened to them, Steed? Does she tell you?"

"I'm not certain how the great deer speak to you, Elfking, but the thoughts of horses are impressions and associations for the most part." He glanced back at her. "She can't tell me what she saw. She can't show it very well either."

But he turned to her and tried. Steed's brows drew down over his eyes. "They came along water. There was no need to search it out. The forest was on their shoulder… forests are worrisome to her. Full of bears, cats, and wolves."

The Elfking glided between Steed and Lusis and his blue-silver eye met the pale and slotted gaze of the horse's eye. She didn't shift when he set his fingertips on her rein. The height of the Elfking made most horses seem rather small. The elves of Mirkwood had founded a tall, hale breed that could carry him or Amathon – big male elves – fully armoured. This horse had the height if not the sturdiness. He turned her reins over in his hands and then glanced at the saddle. His lips pressed into a line. He passed by her and went to the long-legged white mare. She was young and new to saddle.

Steed continued to relate what he got from the horses. "She worried about the woods. I see the image of a grey foal there." He looked at Lusis, "One of them had a foal and lost it in the Mirkwood. This is an old memory she's never forgotten. Not recent."

Lusis hadn't taken her eyes off the King. "Keep going." She felt Redd come to rest behind one shoulder, and Elsenord on her right, curious about what was taking place.

"There was something strange in the air." Steed told them.

"Like the smell of fire?" Redd reached a careful hand and got the big mare's forelock out of her blinking eyes. She seemed to appreciate that.

"I can't tell if it was a scent or a thing." Steed smoothed the white blaze along her head. "She's tired. They need to be walked before they have water…. They were so glad to see the gates open. They don't," he looked aside at Redd and then Lusis, "they don't know this place."

"What kind of a horse runs to a strange barn?" Elsenord shook his head at them. "I've never known it to happen like that – how would they know there was something here for them? These are beasts."

The Elfking murmured, "The same kind who require neither bit nor proper bridle."

Lusis looked aside at him. Everyone in earshot did the same. Steed kept his voice low as he related to them, "It's true. She's wearing a headstall, nothing more."

"The leather will be dark green," said the Elfking. He drifted to a stop beside Elsenord and tipped his head at Lusis. "For when there is light enough… for your eyes."

She marked that one out on her list. Istari eyes couldn't see colour in the dark either. Lovely.

Redd glanced down at the Elfking, "How do you know, my King?"

"Because the line of Asfaloth often has mismatched eyes." He told the huge Ranger. "Glorfindel has never needed to put a bit and bridle to a horse to ride it in his life. This is Glorfindel's mount." He lifted the horse's forelock and exposed a pattern of bells and flowers along her headstall's leather. "He is kind to them, that elf."

Steed looked aside at the sudden rush of murmurs through his kin. His own bloodline came out of Rivendell. He'd had misgivings about the King of Mirkwood for that reason, and felt the temptation to do the great elf disrespect. That impetus was gone now. These people had to hear the King out.

Ellethiel's chin rose. "You can take all of that from a green rein and a headstall, King of Mirkwood? I have had many warnings against you, and your intricacies, and your busy-head."

"Lord Elrond," sighed the Elfking in response. He set a pale hand on the saddle of the grey mare and stood all but luminous under the moon. "He is the force of order to my relative chaos, it is true. I do… value his orderly mind, his ways and laws, his sticking points and forbearances. He is a wise elf, but in counselling you against me he creates an impasse that cannot abide."

She waved the gates shut. "Against you? Why, not at all, Elfking." The half-elf turned to Thranduil. "It is not that my wise Lord counselled me to disbelieve you, it is that he warned me your words serve the truth… and many other masters, all unseen. You are clever." She turned from him.

Thranduil's teeth clenched, "I shall thank him for that as I pass his resting place on the morrow."

"You cannot know it." She glanced over the horse. "You cannot know it from the coincidence of a horse with two different coloured eyes. They are out there in the wider world. You cannot know it from a headstall rather than a bridle. We shall safeguard you in this Keep, and you shall not go recklessly out into the night, supposing I have to lock you in the pantry."

Aric's lip curled at her, "Maybe the wine-cellar. Then, at least, the act could take the place of your notion of generosity."

The Elfking shut his eyes, and his head tilted upward in the silvery light, as if he might have been looking for something – like patience. When he gazed down at her, again, he spoke in a voice of slow calm, "I ask you, Ellethiel, how sound is Lord Elrond's logic if he dies because of it?"

She stopped walking away and glanced back at him. "Nothing has been made as can kill him. He defied Sauron, yet he lives. But we will ride out in search, trust in that. This is our land. It is our charge."

"That is a very dangerous estimation to hold the Lord to."

"Escort the King inside," she instructed her men.

The Elites, in flawless unison, went for weapons. Lusis and her troop of Rangers took one step outward from them and sunk down into battle-position. There was no clearer indication they were very serious. He was the King, and he was not to be held against his will.

"You know Rivendell. Arwen Elrondien does adore horses of misty grey and white – they put her in mind of an ocean she has never seen," the Elfking glanced in the direction of the youngest white mare and the pale dappled greys around her. "You, Ellethiel, know there are many greys in Rivendell and all here are of that ilk. Anything… for his daughter." The Elfking's head tipped.

She gritted her teeth. "If it comes to blows, take him inside! And I want as many riders as we can spare out and searching in the next ten – do not come to me with empty hands!"

"A stag incoming!" the wall cried. The gates began to crank back.

Ellethiel called out, "No, you fools!"

The great white elk's massive horns threw the doors wide as it breezed in. Many arrows came to level on it as it made for the King.

Now Steed shouted, "Do it no harm! Do it none! Lower your bows!" His voice rang between the wooden walls of the Keep. "No man shall shoot down an elk such as this!"

"My thanks," said the Elfking. He swung up onto its back and was through the gates just seconds later. It was almost the one motion. Lusis had known it was coming. She'd stepped into his right stirrup and linked her elbow around the King's as he'd come to rest on the elk's back. She trusted that her troop and brothers were of no interest to Ellethiel Tatharion, and that the Elites were probably already over the wall.

They flashed out through the gates. Lusis took the jarring jolts of the elk vaulting over the land. It was incredible how long its stride was when it was leaping. They passed over a tongue of river in a deep divot, some fifteen feet aloft. It was a tooth-jarring landing. She nearly lost the stirrup.

"Where are we going?" She pulled in closer to ask him, then shook her head. "You have no armour, my King. If you think I'm letting you go into battle."

"Might I remind you that you never wear armour?"

"I wear chain."

"Granted – though it is a strange place to argue," he glanced at her, his hair floating above her in the moonlight, silver, gleaming, like his blue-silver eyes. "The horses' pasterns were wet. The white mare had a smear of pink below the knees. Lover's lily pollen means slow, deep water. A white horse is like an open page."

Lusis unhooked her elbow from his and fell outward until her hand wrapped his forearm. "Fast ahead! Keep him on the ground, my King!"

The band of orcs on the land were worrying something on the ground. She'd glimpsed the sour light of them, but she could also smell them. The elk crested a rolling hillock in the moonlight, and rode down on them so quickly there was little warning. The elk put its head down. Lusis took aim and swung her elven steel. A head flew off, and then a second.

Arrows began to rip through the autumn sky. The Elfking released the reins, took out his sword, and cut them out of the sky. Lusis took the bowman across the forehead with the tip of her sword. An imperfect hit, given the jolting of the elk, but one that, with momentum, both slashed and caved in his forehead. He fell down in the next world, if there was such for him.

They passed out of sight into trees with the screeching of Orcs behind them.

"They've driven an elf to water, among the rushes." The Elfking pulled the elk around, dappled by moonlight up on the rolling hills. "We must deliver him before all hope is lost." He scooped her up in front of him, Lusis got a leg under her, curled against the elk's powerful neck.

"Keep the reins low," she told him as the creature began to pick up speed through the trees. "I'll need to vault off. If I tangle up you'll drag me."

The King released the reins and took out both swords. "Arashir needs no rein to hunt Orcs." The King's jaw clenched, and he leaned into the charge, "He finds them loathsome."

The marshy land around the distributary of the Anduin was difficult going for heavily armoured Orcs. They boiled along the shore trying to get weapons on the elves in the water. The massive elk broke bone as he slammed along the shoreline. Lusis felt the King lean back as she braced to vault. She kept her eyes on water. It was mere seconds before she was soaring through air. The momentum of the charging elk made her leap frighteningly fast. She spotted a trio of Orcs who were edging into the churning stream that Anduin fed to Forest, and she creased the back of the head of the one in the lead. Water fanned up around her as she landed. The stream bed was mucky, and she skidded a distance before she could turn around and lash out to parry the blade of a bleeding Orc she'd struck.

His face screwed up in rage. He was strong, and his dark blade, though bereft of all refinement, easily hammered her boots deep into mud as she made an overhead block. It was getting hard to move. She pulled out a knife from her belt and lashed it across his middle, and she cut him, but he had filthy chain mail on him. Lusis took the knife back quickly and swiveled down and around. All she had on this beast was speed and momentum, if she could build enough up. Possibly, size. She turned the sword and heaved her weight upward with everything she had, it was difficult to stab a girl when your sword arm and sword were a good eight feet down-river.

The next Orc was on her before she even exhaled.

She ducked the axe-like blow, stepped aside, and reversed her sword into the third Orc. The cut was too shallow, because she couldn't get leverage in the mud. The problem with Orcs is that they would continue to fight, practically until you cut them into bits. Even bleeding and injured, Orcs were tirelessly evil. A headshot was always best. She was trapped between them, and they caught on to this quickly.

Lusis shoved her sword into its sheath, moving as quickly as ever she had in the Northern battlefield, and she did that thing she was loath to do. She touched something of theirs. She grabbed hold of the shoulder gear of one of them, stuck her feet up on the other, and flipped herself over the first Orc's head. They weren't quick. Or bright. She threw the one she held off balance and took him out with the same knife she tossed into the eye of the stunned Orc who charged her.

It wasn't possible to miss the tall, blond elf in the water with her. His wet mane had such a buttery resemblance to Legolas' hair that, for a moment, panic made her mouth bitter with bile. She surged through water at him. Orcs were coming, eight of them, and four more floated face-down in the water by the blond elf. She'd managed three in this muck. She wasn't going to let him try to take eight alone. "On your left flank, good-elf!" Lusis skidded in beside him.

They didn't even get the opportunity to look at one another before the assault began. The elf was terrifyingly fast. She couldn't see all his motions, so she steered clear of him and trusted to his good sense not to strike her.

She blocked the Orc that angled in on her, brought up her muddy boot, braced on the back of the elf, and shoved the heavy beast into deep water. He sank down at once, and came up clawing for air. She put a stop to that with a quick stab in the throat.

"Come around!" The elf barked at her. "Block!"

She blocked the blow, but it drove her entire body under water. The current took her. She had to catch hold of the elf's long legs and come to her feet on his other side, which left his flank open. She swore, ducked into the water and only just managed to block a blow aimed at the elf's head. The Orc fell over dead, but it was nothing she'd done. He had a beautiful green elf hilt sticking out of his eye. Lusis caught it as the Orc fell over backward, stepped up onto the Orc's body, and launched at another with her sword lashing down. It landed on his rickety helmet and split his head open.

Once she had leverage, she was a terror.

More Orcs came to take the place of those they'd felled.

An arrow passed through one of their necks. It was deep red and rich gold fletching. Amathon. The next arrow drove deep into the shoulder of an Orc and his sword arm dropped, useless. The blond elf opened him up along his sternum and threw him aside. That arrow was a Ranger black and blue. That was Steed's sure aim, she thought with a nasty smile. "Terror is riding down on you," she bellowed at the uncertain Orc who was now before her. "Run or die, beast!"

This one ran. Thranduil cut it in half. He was on the shore amid a cluster of Orcs, his motions too fast for human kenning, and his face so quiet and beauteous she thought he might be dreaming, or dancing. But he wasn't. His gleaming body passed peacefully under arches of blood, gore splashed onto the ground around him. He was untouched.

"Beautiful," she whispered. It was very-much lost, she thought, in the gasps of the elf beside her. She shook herself and turned to him. "Are you hurt?"

He glanced down at her and they recognized one another. She'd seen him once before. His deep voice thrummed, "Istari?" He was in sudden astonishment, for all Istari could fight, but there were none who could perform abreast of an elf, and she'd done well. "You must be of the blood."

"Probably not," she let the water wash her sword and sucked air. "Should we help the Elfking?"

"I would not interfere with Thranduil, child. He is too deep in the pleasure of what it is he does. He has no need of others," The blond glanced down at her in his practiced manner, as if all motions were planned for maximum efficiency. He lacked the nearly serpentine beauty of the Elfking's motion. Lusis had never noticed the difference between elves and her King before. She blinked and almost missed his question to her. "You are a friend of elves, are you not?"

"Most certainly, I am." She swore to him. "Are you hurt?"

His expression remained detached. "Istari… you must help me."

"I will. I would like nothing more. What do you need?" now she put her sword aside. He backed up, water soaking into his clothes so that the midline of his back and the muscles of his shoulder blades stood out in definition. He was picturesque, but that part of her being that could not pull its attention from the Elfking did not long to thread itself into the might of this elf. It was a strange thing to realize.

He led her into deep water. She had to hold on to one of his broad shoulders, kick away from the mud, and swim to the brief little island in the middle of the river. It was a little nodule of land, driven here by the turn of this stream, and it was covered in tall grass and rushes.

She pulled herself up onto it.

"Who comes!?"

Her heart sped up because she felt she knew that voice, "Lusis Buckmaster, Elite of the Elfking of Mirkwood." She pushed through the grass and Dorondir's pale, heart-shaped face turned toward her. His eyes narrowed, and a look almost like pain passed his expression.

Relief.

"Oh, I know your face, bright one."

She laid a hand over her heart and extended it to touch his shoulder. "Stars, you are a welcome sight, you wonderful elf. Are you all right? Who is that with you?"

"Lindir of Rivendell and Raineth, his guard." Dorondir told her.

"Your horses ran into Tatharion House, and the Elfking recognized them and where they had been. He came down the river to the nearest marshy land-" she stopped short. Laying in the grass, his skin a pale greyish, was the Lord of Rivendell. She fell back a step. "Oh gods."

Dorondir snatched her hand, "He's alive, but… unwell, Lusis. We set out for Mirkwood and were attacked. We… we let go the horses out of pity. There was no escape but through them."

Lusis bent over Elrond and set a hand on his chest. He didn't open his eyes or stir. His deep burnished fire was low, gone nearly purplish. She straightened and looked to Glorfindel. "We need to warm him up – get him into the Halls."

She leapt back into the water and kicked across to the opposite side of the stream. Having mowed down dozens, the Elfking stood waiting for her. He backed up a few steps as she walked up the bank, this was to give her room to pass. He sounded like he pressed composure onto the words he spoke like a seal into hot wax, "Lusis Buckmaster, there is such fear in your face."

"I need the elk," she saw the great thing pulling up grass near the trees. It raised its head and loped down to the King, clearly at his summons.

One of the best things about Thranduil Oropherion. When all was anarchy, no questions. Just action. "Go with her, my friend."

She brought him through the stream, and held on to him when it was too deep for her. The elk, at seven feet, was quite safe from the powerful current in the water that rushed down from the Anduin. She got him to shore and he plucked the virgin shrubbery, very pleased with her.

"Dorondir. Wrap him up. You're taking him across the water." Lusis told him.

He glanced up at the King's elk uncertainly. "Lusis, are you aware that beast is the Elfking's-"

She bent over the elf and directed, "Get on… the deer."

This shook him from his shock at the suggestion.

The elf named Lindir, who had a very sweet face and large sea foam green eyes, set to wrapping the Lord of Rivendell in the cloak he wore. He pulled the hood up around Elrond's quiet face. He looked so young. She stepped aside to the elk's head, to hold his headstall.

"You have to see these men safe to the Elfking, Arashir." She felt foolish talking to a deer and added an awkward, "Good boy."

Glorfindel lifted the Lord up to Dorondir and nodded. "Carefully."

Dorondir inclined his head to the great elf somewhat unsteadily.

Cold and shivery as she was, Lusis went back into the stream to cross with Dorondir and the Lord of Rivendell. When they were on the other side, the Elfking stepped up to the elk, and eased the hood of Dorondir's passenger aside somewhat.

Lusis saw the Elfking's back stiffen. He took off the long drape of his own cloak and laid it over the still figure Dorondir held in his arms. Then he stared up into Dorondir's face and seemed to consider him for a few heartbeats. Whatever deliberations he made, they were dispensed with, quickly. The Elfking set his head against the bow of the elk's neck and spoke to it in quiet and earnest gravity. The King stepped back, "Go, Arashir. Bring him safe through the Gates."

"My Lord," Dorondir looked openly distressed, wet through, and pale with concern. He turned the great elk around the Elfking and his chest rose and fell as if it was a struggle to inhale enough air to satisfy him. "Wait! No, my Lord, look at the Orcs strewn around you. You have need of this beast for your safekeeping! Come now, you must ride for-"

"Peace, child." Thranduil laid a hand on the reins and told him, "Dorondir, I am your King, not your Lord. You hold your Lord, helpless, in your arms. You are beyond yourself. Do as I say."

"You must be safe," his head cocked. "You must both be safe."

"And so we shall be." The Elfking indicated the many elves and Rangers he now had around him. "And you will carry him to the Halls." He took the water skin that Steed handed him, and fastened it to the ties on the saddle as he told the elk. "Stop for nothing. Take them, Arashir!" He clapped the stag on the shoulder and backed away. The huge beast took off.

The wind picked up Thranduil's colourless hair. He studied the fleet creature's gait as the bull-elk vanished into trees. He turned when its hoof beats faded from his ears, he made a slow pivot toward Lindir. "You… Lindir, I confess I do not know your station in Rivendell."

"I lately am the seneschal." He glanced aside at Lusis, in her wet, muddy condition.

"Kingdom's-seneschal?"

"Rivendell is not a kingdom," Lindir told her. "We have no King, just our Lord Elrond. This is perhaps because there were always fewer of us."

The Elfking blinked, "It is because no one ever extended Lord Elrond the crown."

Glorfindel scoffed at the Elfking of Mirkwood, "He lacked the pretensions to demand one."

Lusis felt herself snap at the golden vision beside her. "Do you think they asked my King before they had the circlet on his head? His father's blood still pooled around him and wasn't even dry. Have some respect in this company, or travel alone."

Ewon sucked a breath beside her, and when she checked, the Elfking's silver eyes were on her. He stared at her a long moment, turned his head, in fact, before his pale eyes flicked aside. "I will have no arguing here. There are greater worries for us than moments of a past that none can change."

Now Ewon bowed before his King, "Simply direct us."

"Pile the bodies." The Elfking looked into the trees. "They foul the air, but it is rainy season. We may burn them. In my experience they reek less when they are charcoal and that will that serve as a warning to any others heading down the Forest River. But… find the commander of their foul slaughter. I need to see that one." He glanced at Glorfindel and Raineth. "Now."

Lindir's eyes found her. "You are the woman the Lord rode to Mirkwood land to see seasons ago. The Istari of Mirkwood."

"Of Mirkwood?" she gave a soft huff, discovering that, inwardly, she was delighted.

"I am sorry," he inclined his head. "I meant only to know you on sight, and to… to thank you for what you did. For the risk you took, for my good Lord and friend." He touched his chest and swept his hand outward to her. "Thank you for your help."

"The only way you survive a slaughter of orcs," she clapped him on the shoulder, "is together." She passed him by and glanced to find the King. He'd walked away to glance down, one-by-one, at the Orcs he'd killed – a great circle of stinking, oozing bits and pieces around him. He'd swept up the tail of his cloak and long coat to keep it from the muck of gore. She smiled at the shape of his long legs. It was such fun to look at him. She feared she might look at him all day.

"What's a slaughter?" Elsenord walked away with Lusis. He led her to Remee, who immediately took his fur cloak off and put it around her, fur-side-in.

She noted, "Elves in the Great Greenwood travel in sections. I imagine there are as many Orcs dead here as in a section. I suppose that's what." She pulled a face. "By the gods, they reek." She blinked an eyelid struck by a stray spot of rain. It was a halfhearted downpour at best.

It was close to daylight before they finished dragging bodies and piling them. The elves lit them on fire. This was complex, Lusis knew, and not just because it was raining, because some ichor in their brackish blood burned like quicklime once they started decomposing. She would let the fresh elves handle it. She watched Redd and Aric tossing the Elfking's rejects into a steadily growing pyre. The King worked with Icar beside him.

Many of the Rangers were so worn they went to the cold stream, took off their clothes, and stepped in. It served the purpose of washing away the stink of Orc, the sweat of work, and the haze of exhaustion.

Once they were all dressed and shivering in the redoubled efforts of the autumn rain, Remee pulled a deep breath and faced her, "Did… did uncle Lengrmar pluck an Istari from the wild?" Beside him, Elsenord wordlessly stared at her, eyes wide, breath held. He seemed almost to fear her answer.

She wrung out her hair. "Okay, boys. Here is the truth. We are not going to leave until the King of the Great Greenwood finishes searching for the orc carcass in charge of this particular slaughter. And don't ask him why. Don't bother. Believe me he will not tell. Just go and spell Redd and Aric so they can wash up before we leave. If they come with us stinking of Orc, it's on the both of you."

Remee exchanged a glance with his brother and then grinned, "We are your family, Lusis. We will talk about this."

She took the wool blanket she'd dried in and submerged it in water. "Move, brothers."

It took them another fifteen minutes in the intermittent rain.

The Elfking glanced at Icar. "Not this one."

"Throw him, Redd." Icar said quietly. He turned and walked downhill to drag part of a carcass along to the King. He was used to this kind of mayhem, or he might have gotten sick at the globs and bits pulled out along the grass. He dropped the thing before the impassive Elfking. Redd and Aric had tossed the other bits onto the fire already.

"Ah." The Elfking said of one of this particular orc's hands. The other was somewhere in the field behind them. He looked at the hand, and turned it over with the blade of his sword.

Icar looked on, curiously. "What is it?"

"He has all five. And he's not as filthy as the others." The Elvenking's blade flickered in air and cut open the throat of this orc's blood-soaked shirt. Next he took off his head with a sword lop and removed the bloody chain at his throat.

Icar jolted back from this and swallowed thickly. "Are… are you content, my King?"

"Incinerate the remains," he nodded coldly.

"Come and get him." Icar said to gaping Aric who was only steps behind him. But it was Elsenord who swept in and took the head. "Go wash up Awnson."

"Close your jaw, lad," Remee chuckled darkly as he passed with the upper body.

"The rest can go straight into the flames." The Elfking walked to the river with the chain on the tip of his sword. Icar hurried after him, curious and tired of the oily stink of himself. He plunged into the river with all his clothes on and scrubbed his leather and chain mail. But he looked up at the King lowering the sword into the shallows. He dunked the chain until the steel of his sword and the chain on it ran clear.

He raised it up a final time and stared at the item.

"Mithril," said the King. "Dwarven make. Third Age and in the style of… a group of gifted smiths of Thrain who were known as the Sounding Forge. They operated out of Erebor and then the Blue Mountains. Their particular stamp was the Cirth letter F, with an alto clef – Sindarin musical notation." He took the chain in his hand and turned it so that the stamp on the clasp was visible to Icar. "The Cirth M laid on its side is not a symbol for mountains, as many believe. It's a stamp that specific group put on all their Mithril… if I recall correctly."

"You do," said Redd quietly. He was on the bank behind the King.

"My thanks, Redd." The Elfking said in a distracted fashion. He turned the thing over in his hands and looked at the small blackish disc hanging on the silver.

"Doubtless stolen." Icar glanced at Lusis and Redd on the bank close behind the King.

"We should be going," Lusis told the Elvenking. "Icar go with Redd. Go stand by the fire. Hurry." They hurried out of the water, shivering in the cold. The key to surviving wet was a lot of movement to keep the body temperature up, that and heat.

The King wrapped the chain in a cloth that Nimpeth handed over to him and then tucked it away inside his long coat's pockets. Lusis fell in beside him as the King followed Nimpeth toward the horses Steed worked with. Lusis glanced over him, "Are you yet sick with dragon's blood, my King?"

"We do not fall sick," his white-golden head bent as he told her. "We are not enough a part of this world, and so no sickness knows us." His brow wrinkled, just slightly, as if in exhaustion or pain, and his long eyes shut for an extended moment. "But dragon's blood can cause trauma and… a kind of waking nightmare among my people."

Lusis stared into the deep blue flame inside his chest. "I see it in the flame of you."

His head began to tip right. His great eyes remained closed. "That taint is passing."

"What happened to you on Bregolnag?" she felt, keenly, she needed his counsel. "Please. What happened to Lord Elrond? His fire is usually such a deep and burnished bronze – burning red and gold together." She gave a little chuckle. "Almost Mirkwood colours. But now… now it sits low in his chest, just as your fire sits so deep in yours." She looked at the base of his sternum. "And his fire's colour is just as wrong as yours."

The Elfking did nothing but look at her for a series of his gliding and her bounding steps. His bright eyes seemed horrorstruck at this news. But that slipped away and his chin rose, proudly, "Glorfindel keeps his silence. We will not know until we find time to speak to the Lord."

"If he wakes again." She remembered his greyish skin and felt a sudden dread for him.

"He will wake," said the Elfking firmly.

"Lindir is the seneschal of Rivendell," she redirected him. "He shouldn't have travelled from Rivendell with his Lord already away. Maybe he's here because he knows something."

"I suspect that what he knows," the Elfking shut his pale eyes. "Is that he loves his Lord. And that something overcame Elrond suddenly. What I fear is that they know nothing more."

"Then let me help you. Somehow. I should be able to help you, my King. Look at what I am." She opened her hands at him. Whatever she was.

"Of course," his head inclined at the memory of the turmoil in her house after the death of her father, of the torpid being the Yellow Istari had become – unable to move, to hear, to react to his voice. He had been afraid she would fade from the world and leave him without options. Then he would be alone with so many things, so many responsibilities, with thousands of elves and a massive forest to protect, and, due to his Kingdom's population the only one still striving to live in the world. He felt, oftentimes, to be the only one still looking for dangers. The thought of it made him cup a hand over his beating heart. He didn't look at the young Istari so critical to his people's safekeeping.

She laid her hand on top of his and felt the unfamiliar vibration of his flesh quaking. "I can help you. I can… find a way."

"Lusis," he stared down at her kind, tanned hand, scarred with battle, and creased with the silt of the river. And he decided to risk something of the truth he carried with her, "You cannot help me now. As I am… I am evidence of a wrong that, by your admission, has brought low two elven nobles now. I may be some of the only evidence we have. We go to the Halls to study this thing that has befallen us. This thing that has happened to me and the great Lord of Rivendell… Lusis." His free hand laid upon the river-dirt of hers to warm it.

Her eyes widened. Her fingertips could feel the banked heat of his fire, thwarted within him.

Glorfindel met the King on his way to the horses. "You hold the Istari close to you, do you not, King of Mirkwood? I wonder if it is care for her, or if you would strangle the freedom from her."

"No, Glorfindel. I did leave her to her own devices these two seasons. At most, I sent her to Radagast. But her freedom took its course." His temperate head tipped. His fingers opened and he released her hand. She laid it over her own heartbeat.

The little star in her chest flared. She had a sudden vision of tearing Northern winds and shook her head against the oddity of it. She smelled lightning and stared up at the raining sky, mistrusting.

Amathon stepped around Glorfindel as if the other elf were no more substantial than a tree shadow, "The boats, my King?"

"Make haste to them, and to a storehouse," he told the young Elite. "Take Nimpeth."

Lusis followed him to the small fire where Lindir paced and Raineth made tea out of autumn berries. Again, the elves had little to eat, but the tea seemed to fortify them.

The Rangers came to stand in the shelter of a lone redwood tree here. There were many of these giants deeper in the Greenwood. The Men devoured stolen food from Tatharion house, the majority of which was dried meat that came out of Steed's pack. Lusis fairly drooled at the spiced smell of it. She was presented with rolls of meat that had been shoved in a leather butcher's bag, but shared it out among them all. "Save some for the road, gulls."

But Steed also took out a round cake of candied fruit and nuts. He unfolded it from waxed kitchen parchment and set it before the elves. He drizzled honey from a flask over it. The Elites, in particular, watched his every move.

Amathon's dark red brows drew up. He had been packing to travel, but now he cut a slice of this cake for his wife, and another for his father, because the King refused to be served. The last cut, he took for himself.

Steed shook his head at this, and gave them half the cake. "There is another, friends."

Amathon and his wife jogged out of camp just moments after packing the food into their bags.

The King, it turned out, wasn't even vaguely interested in food. Redd had tried.

"He's sick, I tell you," Remee looked down from the tall elf on the hill and shook his head at Redd. "Wherever that bright being's Keep is, we need to get him back there, little sister. In a hurry."

Lusis silently agreed.

The Elvenking stood at the curve of the hill, just inside the ring of ground protected from rain by the tree. He stared along the land between these small fingers of incoming water, and the far more tempestuous Forest River that he could hear in the distance. "We leave in the hour."

"The Old Road," Lindir said as he walked along the banks of the Forest River. It was after midday and they'd made it to the outpost along the swift-coursing silted water. The dark haired elf pushed his hair back over his shoulder and smiled at the orange ladybird beetle that briefly lighted on his fingertip. "This late in the year. Your forest is full of life, King Thranduil."

The Elfking's head rose a fraction and tipped as the little creature bumbled by him in air. "Ah, yes. The ladybirds overwinter near here." His hair billowed as he watched the beetle vanish into trees.

Lindir made a good-natured nod at the King, "The Old Forest Road – that way made by the Dwarves of the Iron Hills to reach their fair-weather homes, I suppose – would have put us behind the mountains of Mirkwood and I feared that the Lord would not weather them well. We elected to take this route because we would need only encounter a section to be conveyed to the Halls."

"It is far from where the sections run on frequent schedule," said the King. "Particularly with harvest coming in and Autumn Festivities under preparation in the Halls."

Glorfindel's tall head tipped upward, "Lindir, you need not tell him anything. He has no claim to you. You will never serve such as him. You are a Noldor out of Rivendell, my friend."

"Yes. I'm aware." Said the Lord's-seneschal, and then he told the King. "He was as he always is. But without warning, he became infirm. Our healers could not effect lasting change in him. He sought Mirkwood then. On the way here, he took a turn for the worse. But there was no change in his habits and routines before this issue came to be. It is true that he has had no reply to several missives to Arwen in Gondor, and that did depress his mood, but… she is young and newly married." He made a minor motion with his hand, a bit like a bird wing. Lusis had no idea what that meant and imitated it, as did smiling Icar, beside her.

"There is much commotion in marriage," the Elfking sounded like it was sorely missed.

"I can but agree, having no wife of my own," said the seneschal. "But with no change and the Lord growing more restive… I began to fear for him."

"And you did not go to Lorien?"

"Lorien does not come with an Istari," Lindir swept tendrils of the tall King's white-blond hair out of his face with an air of amused familiarity – as if he frequently had to do this around his Lord too. He glanced back at Lusis who tried to make herself smaller, in fact.

The Elfking's long serpent-tongue of sword wheeled in air, effortlessly. He often played with the thing when he was deep in thought. "Something changed, Lindir. You failed to notice it because it did not want to be seen. But something changed around him. He has been compromised."

"You are disrespectful to the Lord's-seneschal." Glorfindel said under his breath.

Lindir sighed heavily, reached up, and tapped the silver circlet on his head. "The office does not gift one with prescience. But… let us remember we are all elves here," Lindir turned to walk backward a few steps. He spoke patiently. "I believe these Rangers have edhel blood – though some more than others. Exempting the Istari, who is a thing apart from all others. But we have come for help, Glorfindel. We have come to be questioned by him. The King cannot help us if we withhold things from him. There is no other way to discover the truth of this." He turned back to look at the long back of the Elfking of Mirkwood, who was very different from his Lord.

"Lindir of Rivendell, you are practical," the Elfking exhaled gratefully.

He stepped down an incline, along a sudden notch in the right bank of the Forest River. This small hollow led through a screen of trees where a curl of the river was visible beyond. A deep pool, in fact. In the lively waters, there sat several wooden boats of excellent make – trim, sleek, and stained white and daubed in soft yellow as if the petals of a buttercup dotted them. The prows were tipped in tall bowsprits etched with curlicues of foaming water and carved into a fork of antlers. Most of these beautiful boats were covered in oiled elf cloth, and tied down by the slender and disproportionately strong elven rope that the Rangers adored. Only two of such were uncovered, prepped, and occupied.

Nimpeth and Amathon stood one to a vessel. Nimpeth darted down by the white stone flags beside the pool first. "Adar?"

"Here," Ewon said to her somewhat airlessly. "See to the King."

The Elfking stepped up a plank to one of the gold-coloured boats and moved to the back. Lusis followed him without questioning. She saw how the benches on this ship ran along the sides, with room to walk in the middle, and were padded and covered in dark red leather. At the very back, there was a larger such bench onto which the Elfking now curled.

A drawer underneath caught her attention. She opened it and found a wool blanket, elven weave. She drew it over the Elfking. "You're exhausted." She told him. "I'll stay by you. The seneschal and Glorfindel should ride in the second boat. Your troop will surround you here. And your Elites." She smoothed his hair back from his pale cheek. It had been such a long way down the mountain, and so many leagues since he'd eaten or rested.

He might have argued with her logic, but he was already curling on one side, warmed by the sun and the wool, and with his fire low and blue in his chest. She folded a fur cloak that Redd handed her and tucked it close by him, in case the wind became cold or it began to rain. He was insensate before Amathon and Nimpeth got to the poles and pushed the boats out into the Forest River. Lusis sat on the flat bottom of the boat in the sun. She set her back against the drawer, and was gone.

The expansion into Long Lake had not gone unnoticed.

These days, Eithahawn Auronion had to have armed guards in a line along each great pillar into the petitioning room in the Halls of the Elvenking. Gone were the days that a section – a group of armed elves thirty warriors strong – came in here mostly to grow somewhat accustomed to the smells, appearances, and the noise of humans, otherwise, they had very little direct interplay with mortals in the Kingdom. Increasingly, the Halls received Men from growing communities in the Long Lake area, some of whom were furious at the encroachment of elves into the lands of Men, some of whom were jealous of it. One poor human had come to stab him with a knife he'd hidden in a scroll, and died before Eithahawn had risen to greet his party.

A section was a terrible thing to cross.

Eithahawn, for his own part, was a peaceful man, and Kingdom's-seneschal in the absence of his great Elfking, Thranduil Oropherion. Out there somewhere. Being irresponsible. Eithahawn exhaled slowly and turned the page of the docket before him. He rolled his bottom lip into his teeth, reached up, and moved a braid of orange-gold hair over his shoulder. His head tilted. His aqua blue eyes glanced up at the human girl before him. She was tall, this girl, and really eye-catching actually. He could almost believe some young, wild, section elf had strayed in the woods and had some part in the creation of this one. These things happened. Infrequently. But they happened.

He shut the ornate book she'd handed him. Its leather was soft, white, and impressed with doves carrying ribbons covered in bells. Very odd. Doves were excellent for sending short messages between Lake Township and what they called 'The Capital', but sections of elves couldn't convince them to carry anything with a clapper in it. Then he touched seed pearls on the cover. Pretty. "I… fail to understand this."

She stomped her foot. "I don't want to marry him. Can you understand that?"

"I can." Eithahawn got up. He instantly towered over the girl, even when he came down the steps in his long red robes, his elegant hands joined behind his back. "What has this to do with us?"

"My father stands to gain many acres of arable land by this union," she said to him. "The agreement was made before I was three years of age."

It made Eithahawn's head flick. "Say again?" He'd learned this simple command from Jan Kasia in Lake Township – now claimed by the Elfking of Mirkwood, by the behest of the Men therein. 'Say again' was a simple way of confirming, as far as he could tell, that one couldn't process anything one had heard.

She sighed and pressed her fingertips to her brow. "It pains me that you are the only hope I have." She told him with a sigh. His head tipped a little at this, because she had, for a moment, sounded so much like Thranduil in her word-choice that he was charmed, and half-convinced that Legolas had made this girl.

Behind her back, he smiled. "Very well… though I see no problem here-"

"I don't want to do it!" she turned to exclaim.

"Be at ease," he laid a hand in air between them, tipped up. Eithahawn remained calm. "You need nothing more to nullify this… contract than a lack of will to commit yourself to the enterprise."

She blinked her pale blue eyes at him. "So if I don't want to marry him… I don't have to?"

"Such a union is only possible between the willing," he cocked his head at a random thought, closed his eyes, and added a slow stipulation, "among elves." Dear gods. He looked at her. Could Men be backward enough to give away their children to marriages like household objects? Hail, friend. Merry morning. Take this colander. And my daughter. He stepped in close to her, and bent to look into her face. "Tell me… without me… would you have a choice?"

He was horrified at the sudden build-up of tears against her eyelids, and looked down, and then away at the line of people staring at them. It seemed less court of law some days, and more theatre. There were still eight groups to see.

The girl was experienced enough with elves, or had heard enough of them, that she knew tears could be counterproductive. She dabbed her face with her sleeve and steeled herself. All she could do was make that too-fleet human motion of the head that meant No.

Horrifying.

Eithahawn looked at the white book on the table. That was their contract. It might as well have been a box full of shackles. Inside it, on the first page, was a drawing of this girl as a small child, and one of each birthday afterward. It was stunning – how fast they grew. They raced through life like water down from the mountains coursed through the Forest River during spring melt. Terrible. Shocking. Marvelous. Nothing excused the treatment she was seeing. She was still just a girl. Still an Erusen – a being cut from the music of the gods. She should still choose. But he knew he couldn't make a ruling on this matter without the Lake Township Council. That was per their agreement.

He shut his long eyes, horrified by this.

Eithahawn knew he would press them.

He would press them for her freedom.

His blue-green eyes opened on her. If he were the Elfking he would be the final authority on all things in the Kingdom, but – happily – he was not. But King Thranduil would not stand by, surely? Still, when his King was not around… sometimes it fell to Eithahawn to be creative.

He spoke quietly. "If I burn this hideous book of theirs, girl," he rested his long hand on the white dove-cover, "would you then be free?"

'Lord Eithahawn', came a voice in his thoughts, and he straightened and turned to the sudden approach of Farathel, one of the older elves of the Court Guard. She loped into the room, and, from behind her came an overflow of armed elves, glinting with steel. The section on the walls spilled forward like a single thought and circled around him.

Eithahawn glanced at them, "Farathel, what is this? Is… has this to do with Our Guests?" He was the sort who resorted to euphemism rather than be impolite about an event, particularly before the Long Lake humans, who might not understand. Was this because of the Emissaries? He also turned to the human girl who was swept aside by the rush of armour, "She does not leave!" The girl looked panicked.

The great blue-stone gates, inlaid with a pattern of Mother of Pearl on the inside, eased shut. Likewise bars cranked up from the floors and threaded together with bars from apses along the walls. All of this was driven by water-pressure. Much of the inner-workings of the Halls were based on natural forces and the Elfking's creativity, giving a lie to the idea that invention was the province of the Noldor. It seemed to be more likely training, practice, and the preoccupation of a restless mind always striving for better. And it could again be because of the Emissaries that the Great Gates were shut now.

"Give me answer," he told Farathel and her green eyes glanced over the humans pressing to the wall in an atmosphere of panic.

The slender elf-woman was grave, "Kingdom's-seneschal, it must be shown."

His brain leapt from Thranduil to Legolas in a sudden chain of worries. "Lead on."

"Do not fear!" she announced to them. "Men of Long Lake, you will shelter in the Guest Halls."

"Put them under guard, for their safety," Eithahawn directed. He had a vague sense that the few unaccompanied women here might feel somewhat exposed in close quarters with grown men, some of whom were not of the best quality – he could lately attest to that. But it wasn't something he could put into words. Just a feeling.

Farathel fell in line with the humans. "Follow me, Men of Lake Township."

It was frustrating, the barriers in the language. The few women of the Township seemed at a loss as to what to do, but that was all Eithahawn had time to see before he was swept into the inner Halls, and the doors that parted him from the throne of his King shut tight behind him. He went down the stairs in the center of a section, and was ushered into his King's War Room.

Dorondir, soaking from the evening rain, stood panting in the middle of the great wood and stone room. He was smeared with blood and stank of Orc. At his feet he had laid a bundled man – that much was clear from the figure of him – wrapped in one of Thranduil's new travel cloaks.

It was at moments like this that Eithahawn misplaced the fact he was the son of Auron, Sindar general and friend of Thranduil, and Sileth, a fearsome Silvan archer. He had known them only up until his seventh year. When they'd died in succession, and his brothers with them, he'd been raised in what was known as the Inner Halls – the home of the King. So when he saw Dorondir with his grave face, and the man prone on the floor, in all honesty, the moan that came out of his throat wasn't quite elvish. It sounded like the injury of a beast. He took two quick steps and flung himself down by the body on the floor, then threw back the cloak and… he found hair so dark that it was almost black.

Was this a Noldor?

"But this… this is Lord Elrond, gods," he panted, caught between relief and abject horror. "Dorondir, what has befallen the Lord of Rivendell?"

He dropped to Westron, "Sick."

"Have shadows found him?" Eithahawn touched the man's throat for a pulse, and found one there, though it seemed fast, for an elf. He half turned, "Call the healers. Take him to the Healing Hall – Mirkwood shall attend the Lord of Rivendell!"

"Carefully. Lift him up carefully!" Dorondir directed the rush of Silvan elves who gathered the Lord of Rivendell and lifted him across to a long drape of silk, which was how afflicted elves were often carried.

Eithahawn impacted with Dorondir and caught the front of his travel clothes in his hands, "Where is he!?"

Dorondir's pale green eyes were huge with amazement.

"This is his cloak. Where is he?" Eithahawn backed them up several steps. He was just enough taller than the Silvan that it made Dorondir look outmatched, which the warrior, spy, and sometime guard of the same Kingdom's-seneschal very much was not.

"My Lord?"

Eithahawn was not shouting, he was earnest. That was all. "Where is Adar?"

Something twigged in the astonished elf. He was, essentially, a spy from Rivendell, even if one agreed upon by the rulers of each great collective of Middle-Earth elves. But Dorondir had been so many hours trapped in this nightmare of his fallen Lord of Rivendell he had forgotten all other feeling. The mention of 'father' jogged him. He suddenly remembered not just his Rivendell Lord, but his Mirkwood King. He folded forward, agonized. "We were attacked by Orcs, and I left him."

"What?" Eithahawn felt something in his brain break. He shook the man, "Say again?"

"Attacked by a slaughter of Orcs, and I took the Lord of Rivendell… and left the King there." Dorondir's forehead bowed almost onto Eithahawn's shoulder.

The Kingdom's seneschal was dazed. He could hardly breathe, "Tell me you did not do this thing." He shook Dorondir, roughly this time. "Tell me so."

"He sent me with the Lord, and is with the Istari and her men. He stood tall on the banks of the Anduin's streams to Forest." Dorondir told his beloved friend. "Eithahawn."

Eithahawn shoved his friend away from him and the War Room rang with his shout. "You useless man!" The glassware on the sideboard crackled. Wine seeped from the vessel and dribbled to the cut stones in this circular room whose floor was a map of the known world. The wine pooled in Ered Mithrim and began to flow down the Anduin. "Hold him!" Eithahawn snapped at the section. "And all available sections, under steel to the assembly halls! We clean this forest from the Halls to the fingers of the Anduin. Find the King!"

Where was Legolas when he was sorely needed? Fires!

A response rang in the room, "Harthon." As much to say 'We shall'.

"Guard him!" Dorondir demanded of the elves who now circled around him to lead him to a sealed room. He was under house arrest in the Halls, now, but ignored this. He had guarded the Kingdom's-seneschal many times in the past, and for many years, and knew the elf well. "Guard him and do not allow him to ride out!"

Eithahawn's aqua eyes were on the stone floor. They stared at the point where the small river fingerlings of the Anduin reached for the Forest. "Find my King." He yanked the white-gold and peridot clip of his station out of his hair and squeezed it in his shivering fist. This wasn't a matter of station. It was a thing between sons and fathers. And if A Certain King strolled in here in a couple of hours, easy as you please, Eithahawn would throttle him. He swore it.

Within a handful of minutes he began to hear the footfalls of sections in the long rooms to either side of him, and section heads began to show up in their light armour and helmets to line the War Room. They didn't speak to him until all those war-girded leaders ringed the room. The highest ranking among them would have been Legolas if he hadn't gone off to be 'abroad in the world', and leave all this panic and responsibility to his not-quite-brother.

Now the highest rank belonged to Merilin, and that man stepped forward. "We are assembled." He bowed to the Kingdom's-seneschal, utterly in the dark about why they were all collected.

"The King was attacked by a slaughter of Orcs somewhere between the Anduin's tributaries and the Forest." A great stir passed through the elves in the room, for which Eithahawn felt great patience, "I do know he survived it. I do not know if he is under pressure from yet another assault. He is with the Istari and her Rangers." He said above the numb buzzing inside his skull.

"We are yours. Command us," Merilin said breathlessly.

"One-third of you into the immediate orbit of the Halls, out of sight. One-third mobile and visible on the land. Arasell's section goes to Lake Township and brings all local sections, the Rangers and forces to alert. Everyone else sweep up-river and clean this forest. Bring me the Elvenking."

Merilin waved the section heads around him. He divided the responsibilities.

Elves were underway in minutes.

They left the Kingdom's-seneschal standing in the War-Room, cold.

There was no way that he would be able to hide this event from the Emissaries.

They had opinions on everything. Such as a Kingdom being entrusted to a half-Silvan.

He shivered in his sleep, tossed through battles.

Blood, screams, foes, weapons, and openings.

The little fractures between life and death on the battlefield – openings. He saw them almost as if they were outlined in sunny yellow. The battlefield, the orcs, and goblins, the blood, and Angmar Men all around him – shades of steel and grey, but with crystal clear flashes of sunlight yellow.

Goblin. Sword-forms too vertical. Bait. Stoop under. Turn. Opening between breastplate and shoulder. Reverse blade. Turn blade. Stab inward. Step around to extract. Block incoming with second sword. Next. He flowed like water through the lights in this fatal world, pulled along with reckless haste because of his great skill, and because he was a messenger from the Halls of Mandos, a Prince of death.

Just watching him, Lusis was terrified for his safety. Blades coasted by him, so close they glided over the gloss of his breastplate, shivered past the end of his eyelashes. He was as close to the bleeding edge as a body could come without taking injury from it.

Case in point – Elves did fall around him. He didn't see them yet. He couldn't. He was lost in the cool silent world of his work. He shut his long eyes in a slow blink as he spun in air. He split open the head of a troll and drifted down like snow.

This Thranduil was a great roaring engine. To her eyes his body a cylinder of white-hot star fire. He was a machine of war. She watched him, both mesmerized and horrorstruck by him. She looked for a way to stop him, or pull him away from this terrible plain of bodies and blood, but he didn't care to hear her. For ahead of them, rose a radiance in answer.

His father.

Oropher stood straight from atop a tumble of Orc bodies, his white-gold hair rippling, and his body drenched in the rose golden light of morning. They briefly saw each other. Oropher's pale grey eyes witnessed the artistry of his most beautiful son, and adored it. His favourite. His darling. Thranduil, the lithe shape that rushed over him, twin swords sunk deep in the craw of a worm-head.

Lusis caught him, steered him. She raised him up out of the heart-pounding rhythm of combat, the one place where he most pleased adar, and best expunged himself. It was dark and cool where they surfaced. She could scarcely see a thing with her Istari eyes, but… the room was wide. It echoed. And the air was soothing. It smelt of rain, grass, and trees, and Lusis felt a simple smile at that. She heard a silky voice.

Le melin, my coming of spring. Can nothing quell that racing mind of yours?

Lusis froze. That would be his wife, she assumed.

His wife who'd vanished in war and met a terrible fate.

Bringing him along to her, to hear her voice was simply not safe.

She struggled with him, pulled hard on that powerful, thoughtless, feverish brain. Follow me.

Flickers of her earnest face before him. Her Rangers of the North. As filthy at the gates of the Halls as beasts, and threatening to the mathematical order of the elves. Her large, dark brown eyes – alien eyes – as she'd looked down at him in his borrowed bed in Lake Township because she could see fire in him. And he'd felt a rush of cold recognition. And the gulf between what they both were, had reversed itself in one disorienting rush.

Fire. The Secret Fire given to all living things by Eru Iluvatar. Human and elf eyes could not see it. Not in themselves. Not in others.

Unlike Istari eyes.

Even in this dreaming-place, Lusis straightened up – straightened up in the real world, the one outside of her Elfking's fever dream. She was suddenly… content. Leave it to his circuitous mind to see even this little shadow inside of her, and shore her up.

Here. Here is what your fire is like.

She pressed that image against him, that golden tongue of flame rising into a tornado of white fire, because it wasn't possible that he'd ever seen his own divine spark – and the Elfking's eyes opened in the real world. He gasped in the boat on Forest River.

He shivered and moved under the blankets and furs. His long hands came out first, and pushed at the many layers. He swept the warm shell back from his head and shoulders. His mussed blond hair tumbled out and bounced against her wrists. It was always going to be a pleasure, a pure tactile pleasure, to be in his company.

"What was that?" he gasped. His eyes were large.

Lusis exhaled and touched his hair to rights before his pointed ears. She kept her voice low as she said, "Something isn't right with you. When you go into… those places where elves rest. It is increasingly hard to get you back again."

The King went still and watched her hands dart around his face to fix his hair. He was calm again by the time he asked, "And did you do that, Lusis Buckmaster? Is it so? Can you now pass through the barred gates into my thoughts and find me buried there, under so much time? Can you do this thing?"

She told him, "I…" she steeled herself, "I do what is necessary to protect the ones I love."

Nimpeth glanced up from where she moved the boat tirelessly ahead in the turgid river. Redd's head turned away from the small steel vessel on the brass brazier suspended above the water to one side of the boat. "Is he awake?"

Lusis leaned in to look at the King's large blue-silver eyes. "I think so."

"I'll fix him tea. There were supplies with the boats. Honey and wafers. Try him?" Redd nudged Icar awake, and the young man took over tending the fire while Redd went into the steel tin of supplies. It was well into the night now, and the fires suspended beside the boats were their only light and heat.

The King pulled her attention around, "What did I see?"

She tucked his fur around him because the wind had risen and rain was in the night sky. And she didn't know what to tell him. For her part, Lusis wasn't sure why it was she was passing in and out of elves' waking dreams. But it was useful. When she was near him, Ewon dreamed of fear and pain, of seeing his King with no steel to gird him, and the arrows of Men falling like rain – it was every single fear he had for this new Age. That the good in Men was thin and could not be trusted. They would turn on him. When Ewon was in the grey clouds between the sleep of Men and the reverie of Elves, the wound that slanted through his back and ended in his chest also plunged him into nightmares.

She'd spent some brief time in Glorfindel's abstracted mind. She'd seen the great siren of his being – that Lord of Order, Elrond, for whom Glorfindel would die. Glorfindel walked those grey places, between, earnestly sending his Lord strength. He saw this in terms of a journey through the unruly woodland realm of the equally anarchic and insular Elvenking, and that was what she had seen in her mind. The golden Noldor was a creature of caesuras, rests, sets. Inside his mind there rocked a slow and inevitable metronome. Regulation, principle, and a commitment to righteousness had made him beautiful, strong, cloudless, and, in some ways, almost implacable.

In the same way, forces across Thranduil's entire existence had made him wily, surreptitious, and calculating. The intelligence that was part of his allure was also part of what made him impossible.

The air seemed to shift. Lusis got to her feet at a whisper of sound. Just as quickly, Redd rose and came around low with his sword lopping air. Even half-awake, Icar skittered up to catch the pole Nimpeth had abandoned. Because the tall elf-woman had noiselessly leapt to the stern. Her bow was up and knocked. Her limber body blocked access to the King. Ewon, at the bow of the boat, slung low around the tall wooden bowsprit and braced, now using his injured arm. A few invisible shapes seemed to tumble by in the dark. Lusis' teeth bared. "Cover the fire," she hissed.

Redd hurried to deposit the steel lid over it. He pulled a handle that closed vents to the coals. For a moment, there was nothing but Redd carefully bracing the little pot of tea to the side of the boat, and the sound of Icar moving the boat ahead.

Behind her, she could see Elsenord at the bow of their boat, his sword out, and his face turned to the night sky. He held a small oil lamp up in air.

Everyone was ready. Steed and the girl, Raineth, had bows out. Aric stood before Lindir, who sat at the stern of the boat. Glorfindel couldn't guard the Lord's-seneschal, being as he was pushing the boat forward. And then the King made a soft hiss of sound. The moon blotted out above them. Then it was like being pelted with small stones. Lusis slashed because it was habit to do so, but she couldn't exactly collect up and stab these things in air – they were fleet. Though she did hit enough that several rained down on the deck.

Aric made a long, drawn out cry of irritation at them from the boat behind. "Stupid rats!"

Lusis understood. She made a sharp hiss as a trio of bats shot along her sword arm and drew blood. "Filthy, stupid rats!" A flare of golden popping lights brightened the water beside the King's boat. The bats who had bitten her had exploded.

In the boat behind the King's, Elsenord gave a laugh. Glorfindel pulled the second boat close beside with a few skillful pushes.

"Enough!" The King's voice tore through the dark with a sudden blue radiance. Fire rose to a nearly crystalline blue-silver inside of him, and in the sudden flare of light, Lusis could see streams of bats tearing by. They made high-pitched squeals as his light touched them. Those too close to him snuffed out, and were flying dust. The rest shot off into the night.

Glorfindel landed on the King's boat with Lindir close behind him. He anchored the second boat with a rope to the first. "What obscenity have your elves allowed into this so-called Kingdom?" He scoffed. He rose and turned toward the Elfking. Nimpeth's back straightened. She stepped in the way.

Thranduil stood with a quivering hand closed over his chest, "Find no fault with them." He didn't open his eyes, having expended so much energy.

But now that Glorfindel had reached Nimpeth, he swept a powerful arm as if to brush her aside. She was an afterthought between two influential nobles – and in a verifiable sense, such as on paper, she was no more than that. In every sense that mattered, however, she could not be brushed off. Red-haired Amathon touched down on the deck, far too close to Glorfindel. The golden-Noldor was forced to divert his course.

"Don't trouble me, Silvan. I must speak to the King. Begone." the great elf told the Elite.

The small, dark-haired, Noldor archer, Raineth, pulled up short on her way to the boat. She glanced at Glorfindel and gasped, "My Lord."

Glorfindel made a soft hiss at her, "Quiet, child. Don't you see that I have entrusted my Great Lord to this edhel who the Silvan crowned, and his woods are full of the foul spies of the Enemy?"

Thranduil's graceful head tipped. "Which Enemy would that be?"

Now Glorfindel caught himself and blinked.

"The One Ring and its Dark Lord are no more." The King stepped forward. "Is there something you are failing to tell me, Glorfindel? Something the Lord meant to pen, perhaps?" His long arms closed behind his back, expectantly.

The elf was stunned. "What? Do you believe he would keep such a thing from you?"

"We are not the same," the Sindar King stepped toward him. The wind billowed the clothes he wore around him, and he shone in the baleful light from the sky. But Lusis could see that the fire inside him had fallen back to a dangerously low blue flame.

"Protect him, Nimpeth," she whispered. Lusis moved into position at the King's side just scant feet away from the elf woman. She glanced at Amathon and he pulled in close.

Glorfindel's hand swung through air, "There is no threat left in Middle Earth that is worth the attention of the elves."

"You should better hope that is the case," Thranduil's calm voice held the presence to fix the golden elf in place, "because you have already given up looking for it, even if it is my suspicion that this threat has afflicted your very Lord."

Now Glorfindel's brows drew down in anger. "As usual, you have no proof for us."

"Because a foe is elusive, does not render it harmless." The Elfking said. "The evidence is around us to be perceived, but you cannot credit it, because it is less than obvious. But you must understand, Glorfindel, that this is the Age of Men, and the enemy is adapting. We must also adapt."

"It is for Men to face them." The Elf told him. "They must grow accustomed to a world without us in it. They must-"

"You have no stake in this place," the Elfking said sharply. "I have thousands of elves, yet. I am in this world until the last of them boards a ship for the West and they pull me by the hand behind them."

"Because you'll be nothing but a Regular in the West – a soldier," Glorfindel's chin rose. "You are aware your father was a soldier, and that, at heart, is what you are."

The Elfking's eyes flashed, his chest rose with sudden quick breaths. There was no shame in opposing evil. And Thranduil's father had done so as a King. Lusis watched the sudden sputtering of white flame amid blue, and how it was pressed down, as if by force of will. Curious. Effort had been necessary to contain that detonation.

Glorfindel was succinct and pitiless, like clock hands. "Only the fondness of the Silvan saw more in you. And when you set foot in the West with your thousands of subjects, then a great Vanyar, or Noldor Family, or a powerful Teleri will call you to court to take up a position among the house staff, beside your father's brothers. You will belong to them, as we will all have a place or position waiting among our kin. You will end your days in some trifle. Mighty Thranduil, guarding a door, cleverly, ravishingly, for the rest of your existence."

All the elves reacted to this, except, curiously, for the Elfking himself. His brows rose a fraction, and his expression smoothed. That was all. It did not become glassy, or pleasantly enraged. He wasn't even mildly surprised by this judgment. Which meant he had suffered this thought before. Often. It was Raineth who stepped back from Glorfindel and turned her head away. She looked at the water, as if she could not bear his presence, she had been had so disgraced.

Nimpeth made a sudden stride for the grand, great elf of Rivendell. When she spoke, it was through her teeth, and her voice was harsh. "If you think we will get on a boat, cross that forsaken ocean, and arrive in the West to hand you our King – that we are not preparing the way for his arrival – you have lost your senses! If the Three Kindred have so desperate a desire for a block of wood to pin their castle doors open and shut, I suggest they take you!" She stepped free and took her place between the Noldor and her Sinda King again.

Amathon exhaled slowly and stepped to his wife's side.

Glorfindel's face flashed a sudden spasm of irritation he quickly smoothed over. This was only just notable, forgettable, in fact, beside the open shock of the Elfking. He backed up. His smooth face appeared as it must have when he'd been a child. His pale pink lips pursed under wide, silvery eyes. He stared at Nimpeth in undisguised astonishment, whose long eyes blinked rapidly. He was so luminously transformed.

"My King, please ask adar," she bowed to him and glanced at her father on the end of that. Ewon was a pair of bright eyes in the dark, distressingly close behind Glorfindel. With him stood deeply glowering Redd. The massive Ranger looked as if he would have preferred Glorfindel if he'd been a bit shorter, and was willing to make the necessary adjustments himself.

But now Nimpeth's father, the Elite Silvan, Ewon, stepped forward to bow. "I make no apology, my King," he said. "You have given us your entire life. In the West, your people will give it back to you." He straightened, his ageless Silvan face suddenly immodestly proud.

The Elfking's hands closed over his chest. The banked fire in that furnace spat white sparks wildly against his mother-of-pearl flesh. It was fascinating to witness. Something stood in the way of its natural behavior. Lusis glanced aside at the dampener on the brass fire bowl suspended over the side of the boat. Something kept the King's fire from exploding into the throat of him as it should have done upon learning something like this. The Elfking began to incline his head to Ewon, but the Elite stepped back and bowed, because he was unable to endure the obeisance of his King.

"You can accomplish nothing before the Three Kindred." Glorfindel breathed at the King. "Surely you know."

Lusis felt her lip curl, "Clearly, you don't know them – how they operate." She glanced aside at the dark-haired seneschal who seemed content to look on. "You're so enamored of rules? Laws here do not allow for dismissal of the Silvan."

"Ah," Glorfindel's brows arched, "The infamous ava-Moriquendi of Thranduil Oropherion – gods, the arrogance of this elf. We are all subject to the system. It cannot be helped. It will not be."

Lindir spoke up then, his voice low with quiet power. "It can be helped. It is helped within this land, Glorfindel. I am directing you now, not to trouble these good elves with things that may never come to pass."

A few heartbeats of silence endured.

The Elfking's melodic voice spoke, "Glorfindel…. They do not have you at heel yet. There is yet time to mark this world, and let it mark you in ways that matter. Profoundly." He turned his white-golden head to consider Glorfindel and as he eased forward a fraction, his chin dropped slowly. It was an appeal to the golden Noldor to try to understand.

Glorfindel stared at the Sinda Elfking for a long moment, and then suddenly inclined his head.

The disagreement was settled, yes, but Thranduil looked sapped. His blue fire shrunken down so low it glowed below the muscle of his chest. He glanced as Aric poled the second boat to a proper distance alongside, it was thick with the small black bodies of bats. "Ah. Bats in the Great Greenwood. We have a few natural kinds. Even a large dog-faced sort of creature in the South, who will eat only fruit. Competition." He said lightly. "But these are blood-drinkers."

Aric pointed meaningfully at the blood dotting his bare arms and Lusis huffed with amusement.

Glorfindel stepped between the boats and prodded one with his longsword, "Orc's blood, from the smell of them. They would never feed on Orcs naturally."

"Only if there was no other source to be found." Lindir said softly.

"Very possible, if you are a bat in a cavern thick with Orcs," said Thranduil. "I am glad we go into the Greenwood. It is difficult for dark beasts here. Few would survive. None, thrive."

"Spies?" Lindir asked the Elfking.

"It depends." The Elfking's shrewd head sank to one side, "Tell me what you know."

"He had mail." Lindir said suddenly. "Elrond. Carried in by messenger men. I'm sure it's nothing… just that they smelled not of autumn, but of winter itself."

Northern men. Lusis shook her head and looked at Elsenord and Remee, who stopped kicking bats into a pile on the floor of Aric's boat to hear this. She glanced between the King and Lindir. "Messenger men? Like Buckmasters?"

"I did not know them," Lindir admitted with a small incline of his head to her.

Aric shook bits of leathery wings out of his overgrown hair, which did nothing but make Steed laugh. This could only stymie Aric Awnson even more. He slammed down the boat's long pole, which had the effect of stopping the gold-wood boat beside them very sharply in the eddy pool in which they'd come to rest. He said, "Accuse the Buckmasters of what you will – well, excepting the ones with us, that is. They're all right."

"My thanks," Lusis told him.

"Don't be finicky, Lusis Buckmaster," his tone was cranky. Then he pointed at the deck behind him, where Remee and Elsenord, even now, were completing an orderly, fetid pile of furry bodies. "And don't take it in your head that I'm going to be riding on the… the boat full of flying vermin. You can forget it. I'd rather swim behind you." He shuddered and then showed her his arms, in case she needed more convincing. Icar couldn't help grinning.

The King's cheek began to show the shadow of a dimple, but he caught himself and kept his serene expression in place. He swept his hair into one hand and wrung it out from the drizzle settling upon them. "Tie up the other boat, and let them come aboard. We are close to the markers now, Lusis. Then I will tell them I am home."

She had no idea how.

As they regrouped, Redd quickly rescued the teapot. There was enough for the King, Lindir, and the great Noldor warrior, Glorfindel, who refused his cup in favour of giving it to Ewon.

Forest rolled violently over undulations in the river along this stretch. Amathon took over the pole of their vessel, and Nimpeth threw a three-pronged hook ashore. Its points were not sharp, but Lusis watched the line wrap a tree and the hooks fold down along the elven rope. She started to pull, and Raineth got up from her spell of resting on the deck to help bring them to shore. Redd dusted-off his hands and nudged Aric. "Get up you clod. We should spell the elves."

The younger Ranger groused, "They don't get tired."

"Then try another tact," Redd told the young man. "Be a gentleman."

Icar was already on his feet, "There's no hope of that." He shoved his brother with the toe of his boot and then glanced aside to where Remee climbed to his feet. Elsenord was sleeping, but the larger of the Buckmaster men was nothing if not willing to lend a hand.

"Sit, humans," said Raineth. "We have this in hand."

Redd extended a hand to the rope and pulled it so that the boat skipped through the prevailing current and Raineth's great, blue eyes looked at him in astonishment. Nimpeth managed to swallow her amusement as she said, "It is best to let the big one help." She clapped Redd on the ribs and he laughed at her.

"The rest of us are just pretty faces," Icar jabbed a thumb at himself.

Upon hearing this, Raineth raised a dark eyebrow at him. She stepped back and let Redd and Remee take the rope. When Nimpeth stood aside, Icar joined in. The Silvan talked them through steering the boat through stones to touch shore. Then she opened her hand at the white, graven tree-stump some distance uphill. "This is our mark. You have brought us to shore aright. Well done."

The young elf woman, Raineth, hopped from the boat to shore, and took the rope that Amathon tossed from the aft. The elven boat tied up on the bow and stern and the Elfking stood smoothly from where he had been sitting with Lindir. They were mid-conversation, both of them speaking Sindarin, it sounded like. As a Noldor, he knew Quenya, of course, but it seemed appropriate that he'd chosen to speak the King's own native tongue with him in private. Not many of the Silvan knew it well enough to understand it fluently, though it was clear that nearby Ewon did. That argued for Nimpeth, though not necessarily Amathon, understanding it.

But the King switched to Westron. "So the contents of the message are a mystery. But it may be more important that the messenger came from the North."

"Not so unusual," Lindir's Westron was unaccented and properly paced for a human's ear, unlike the Elfking's. "There are ties between Imladris and the Northern Rangers, as you know."

"Imladris' Rangers of the North are a little closer to home, these days," Lusis interjected from her position beside the plank that Amathon folded out to shore.

"Of course they are," Lindir paused beside her. "When we leave, they are the natural heirs to Rivendell. The Tatharion are so much our blood," he gestured at Steed, where he stood guard at the bow of the boat, his body fitted against the bowsprit in an irritatingly elvish fashion. "I suspect we shall not head for the boats before we've made sure that Ellethiel and Elivor have brought their families to take residence in our abode."

"Well, they have a lot to gain by you leaving." She said. "Practically a Kingdom."

"Nothing can take the place of the elves," Redd said softly, which was a tone that was somehow impressive coming from such a large man.

"Something can if you are greedy," Lusis told him bluntly. "Their lands… and I imagine a place like Rivendell amasses a huge amount of wealth across the Ages." She glanced at the Elfking, who almost imperceptibly nodded in reply. "Elf blood inclines one to the good, I believe – it's tied to Eru. It is human blood that is really free to choose."

Lindir cocked his head, "What do you suspect?"

"Panic," Lusis shrugged and reached out a foot to test the ramp to shore before the King stepped on it. "Elves are so important in this world, you have no idea. You couldn't know. You are elves." She looked up at Lindir's curious blueberry eyes. "If you leave they gain Rivendell. If you stay on… that would be better. That would be safer. The King and Gondor are far away, so a great weight is about to fall upon a small number of Men of the North. They will be called in your place, and there are very few of us. I don't think you understand the politics, and I don't mean to elves tying up at dock in the Undying Lands. You… for better or worse, you understand that," she inclined her head in Glorfindel's direction and his pale blue eyes followed her, "but to Men, here. Men left behind with the light going out of the world."

Lindir made a small, fond, moue. "We are not the Two Trees."

"No man ever saw the light Eru allowed them," Lusis said to him patiently. "We see you. Don't underestimate the disturbance among my kind."

"Istari?"

"Human." Her chin rose, "The Northern Rangers whose blood is thinner in what qualities elves add, they are in a kind of turmoil right now." She went down the ramp and pressed the edge of it firmly to the grass with her boot. "Elsenord, can you-"

His eyes widened at the thought of talking to Lindir, and he bowed tentatively. "Lord seneschal… those with more elf-blood in them draw down from the heights and wait in places like Tatharion House. There is a steady flow out of the North. Some love you and wait to go with you, I suspect. They pray for your invite. Some wait for what is yours to become their own. I don't know the full extent of the rest." He glanced to the Elfking.

The King stepped to shore with Lusis following him out of habit. A shared habit. She could feel Ewon just steps behind her, in fact. He exhaled slowly, and went several yards into the clearing to stand beside the tree stump marker. He turned toward the Halls, and a sudden breath of damp wind caught up his hair and clothes in a gentle riffling.

She saw light go out from him, seeming to glare, momentarily white, in the low part of his chest, such that one star-like ray touched the ground. A pinprick in the earth glowed. Light shot across pinpricks in the forest floor of Mirkwood, and the light shot into the throne room in seconds. It came along one spoke in the great wheel of white stones the King had had buried, long ago, in trenches in the forest. The Kingdom's-seneschal could scarcely contain himself to the antlered throne as he felt the spark shoot up through his body and into his chest.

He inhaled and rose up from the antlered seat, and then turned Westward. He knew, by this system, exactly where his King was. A section was within minutes of him.

But, leagues away, the Elfking sagged to rest against the white marker. For a moment, he had felt Eithahawn's heart race with relief. He smiled softly. When he opened his eyes again, he was, strangely enough, pressed to Ewon. The Elite's arm was around him, and pinned him to the tree. His forehead had dropped to the man's injured shoulder. But Ewon's hurt was still too fresh to weather this kind of handling. The Elite was pale and strained, he panted for air. He might have cried out if Lusis hadn't been there to add her support.

Amathon reached them, directly, with Glorfindel and Nimpeth close behind.

Glorfindel's deep voice thrummed a quiet, "What happened?"

"Adar, let me," Amathon stepped in for his wife's injured father.

Nimpeth pulled Ewon aside to her, out of Lusis' line of sight. "Nimpeth. He's hurting."

"I… I'll look at this injury of the King's." Lusis' lips pulled tight and she pressed the flat of her hand against the center of the King's chest. His pale hands reached for hers and she shook her head. "Don't try to distract me with those lovely things, my King. I know how you work a little too well for that now." She inhaled deeply, her eyes on the lowest, bluest flame she'd ever seen in him. It was the same sort of sooty version of its nadir-colour that Lord Elrond's fire of burnished red had been reduced to. Someone was doing this. She was sure of it. But no one knew her Istari eyes could see it. She believed her Istari will could also change it. Her fingertips flexed on the silk and muscle.

He said vaguely. "You must let me be. My sections will close… on us, soon." He faded in and out.

"You look, to my eyes, as Lord Elrond did when he could no longer wake. The time is too late for whatever game you hoped to play." She shut her eyes and felt the fire of him as if she'd put her hand up to his chest. She jumped, because it felt cold. How faint he had become. Almost spent. She shut her eyes and focused on the trace-work of blue flame.

She could snuff it out by closing her fist over it. She could close it in her palm, with just enough air to scarcely exist, forever. Such power… Lusis gasped. Her blood went cold. Fires. Stars and gods. As her fingers reached for the Secret Fire of him, she could hear the attention of them all turn to the miracle they had created. She could feel vibrations in his bones and being, like from some magnificent concerto. Her own mind told her calmly: He is meant to be. She started to quake, because she didn't know where the words had come from.

She was alone. Unreservedly without guidance, particularly since she'd been too much a fool to try this when he'd been stronger. When he could have – would have – tried to be there for her. When he would have helped her face this terrible risk. There was no one else in the dark waters through which they plunged. And he was little more than a glass vessel she carried in her hand, with a fading spark in its center.

That's how alone she was.

Then she plumbed her mind for anything that Radagast had told her about using her own forces. Her 'magic'. But nothing came. She was falling down through a void, and dragging him with her. She soon realized she could be the cause of his death. The thought ripped a sob of breath out behind it. Dear gods, don't let me harm this thing I love out of artlessness.

A voice spoke beside her ear. An old voice, grizzled with the tone, she thought, of comfort and good humour. My-my. Young one. Little firefly. When you know the terrible force of what you are… you are charged with the gentleness of what you, in an ideal world, could be. All you have to do… is choose. She felt herself steady at these words. She could choose to hurt him. She wasn't going to choose that. Her fingers opened instinctively, so as not to smother the flame she held. She didn't touch the fire, she breathed on it.

It remained low, at first. Deep blue. But then, almost as if she could stand before it in a hearth, she saw it begin to lighten. It grew. She sheltered it from the tossing winter wind trying to extinguish it, the wind now doubling its efforts. She nursed the flame, and when the wind drew down onto her, she extended her hand into it and yanked it aside like a curtain. For a moment, she saw eyes.

When the fire in Thranduil Oropherion came on again, she was jettisoned out of him by the eruption. A conflagration in white hot flame consumed the wind, the grey where she had been resting. She felt the heat of it on her heels.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

There was driving rain along the Mirkwood.

High above the world a storm-front raced across the face of Lorien. Wind pushed through giant trees as far as the woodland's Northern edge and raced down all the way into Long Lake. The complex Forest River rushed thick and fast along its length. The water slammed against tall stone and steel ramparts that safeguarded the Halls. Its course roared against the hiss of downpour. Fast and full of fallen tree limbs.

Eithahawn watched all this from the King's Aerie, a place where he had no right to be, in fact. He was no King of Mirkwood, but… the room had many things to recommend it. It was large and round, with space to pace in, it had windows that overlooked the river, and it was stocked with items that the King considered personal. His chair at his table covered in his books. His own records of rule lined the walls. The book open on the table held the lines – Such momentous change is upon us. The Emissaries with all of their predispositions, their expectations. I can but hold to the wisdom that the Ages have brought me. I miss my son. I love my wife. I trust my foster. I lead the people. The Northern Ranger, Redd, his adulation serves a constant reminder that there is no more room in my life. 'I' can scarcely fit into it. Time and space must be made. I will stand with the young Istari.

A line below this the text said again.

I miss my son.

The wisdom of my father.

There was more raw emotion, more cold fire, in the book he should never have read, and more of his King's heart – of his father's – than he'd ever expected to see. Eithahawn glanced over it and wished that he could pen his own thoughts. At the moment the lines would have read:

Where are you?

I am your son too.

You try to forget.

You are bad at forgetting.

Where are you tonight?

Are you safe?

He continued pacing the rounded room until the bell at the base of the stairs rang up at him. All the guards and staff knew he shouldn't wander the Aerie, but it was tolerated. Eithahawn had started going there as a tiny and inconsolable child. There was nowhere else he felt closer to his King and father. Now he hurried down the curving stair to the summons and found soaking wet elves flocking there. The section head was a red-haired young woman with large grey eyes. "Come quickly."

The number of saturated elves increased as he made his way deeper into the Halls, and closer to the cavern river. This fork of fast flowing water had been cut by Silvan and Sindar elves, long before. It flowed through a tall fissure and a channel into which the clever elves had introduced an estuary. The stone room served for the loading and unloading of goods for the Kingdom. Its doors ran along a hall high in the stone wall, and all doors there locked at night and when not in use.

Two sets stood wide open now.

The piers were choked with sections of elves.

Glorfindel's bright head straightened in the confusion. Aric Awnson and Redd Ayesir sprinted away from the pair of ships at dock and went for a Silvan elf who stood beside a cabinet opened in emergencies. She handed them blankets.

The King's long body came to view. He was carried by Glorfindel, his grand autumn robes wet and dragging behind him on the stones. Eithahawn started to hurry through the Silvan guards. On the stairs he saw Nimpeth supporting Ewon, and Amathon carrying Lusis Buckmaster in his arms. Redd hurried to her. He draped a blanket over her, and then rushed to the King.

"Does he breathe?" Eithahawn called, but no one heeded.

He found his voice and shouted above the confusion. "Order in the Halls! All of you to order!"

The sound suddenly fell to nearly nothing, and Eithahawn made his hasty way to Glorfindel. "What have you done?"

"Carried him from the ship," said the Noldorian blond. "I swear to you, Kingdom's-seneschal."

Eithahawn gathered himself, "Does he breathe?"

"Oh, yes." Said Lindir of Rivendell. "He is weak, but alive. As is the Istari."

As he reached them, Eithahawn tugged the blanket aside, shoved his hand into the open throat of his father's long coat, and slid it to his sternum to feel for a heartbeat. It was there like the wings of a bird fluttering in his chest, and his pearly skin was dull to the eye. He was cold.

The healers who hurried in behind him glanced over him as Eithahawn pivoted away from the King. "It is so similar to what has befallen the Lord of Rivendell…" he raised his voice. "Quiet now. We bring him in quietly and the Istari as well, so as to not disturb our honoured guests."

A sudden hush fell.

Eithahawn turned to the healers. "Hurry. Quickly now. Bring them in."

He extended a hand at Nimpeth with Ewon. "Follow the healers with your father, Nimpeth-bess." He glanced at Aric Awnson's bloody arms and directed the human Ranger to do the same.

There would be no rest until the King woke.

"Kingdom's-seneschal," said the harried-looking valet who had followed the golden half-Sinda down to the cavern-river, "Your meeting with the Emissaries – the Council – is within the hour. They are asking after an update on the King's Tour?"

Of course they were.

Eithahawn smoothed his clothes. In fact, he smoothed his presence to the seeming of flawless elven serenity. It did not allow him to forget his father's too-pale face. How he had seemed still as the marble figure of Oropher in the grand cavern. But he sealed those memories away now, in the way of elves, deep, and, with hope, out of sight.

The bed Lusis lay in was round.

It was more of a salad bowl wooden construction than a bed. She lay on a fragrant collection of blankets and was covered over with the softest wool.

And she was clean. That was the high point. For she was also completely naked. She wrapped the sheet around her, in a terrible mood, sat up, and looked at the pinkish light streaming through arches and windows cut in stone.

A mellifluous elf healer said, "Here she is." The beautiful wood screen, engraved with birds and trees, and animals, all of whom were not naked, glided aside.

"I'm not decent," she blurted.

"Oh, awake," said the elf healer. He was a young elf, by his behavior, and as he gently smiled over her, Lusis gazed at the smoothness of his jaw and the dimple at the corner of his pale mouth.

"You are very decent." Eithahawn folded down on the broad edge of this nest-bed in which she sat. She checked the fit of the wool blanket – generous – and then tucked one end over the other, and held it fast against her chest. "Are you well enough to get up, Lusis Buckmaster?"

She looked at him after not having seen him in half a year, and he was… gloriously the same. His red-golden hair fell in waggles around him, long and lovely, and he wore the most amazing robes yet – the rosy-violet colour of sunrise at his shoulders and chest, it faded down to white, an effect achieved by expert needlework and oodles of semi-precious stone. The drape of cloak he wore with it was a beautiful, lush gold. "You… are a sight."

"And you saved my father," he told her quietly.

The flood of relief made her hide her face in her hand. She hadn't been sure. The young elf left at once, not wanting to be party to some strong outburst of emotion, lest it sweep him up too.

Eithahawn's golden brows rose. "He's gone. You can come out now."

She scoffed at the thought, "I'm not hiding from some baby elf who's probably seen me naked."

"He's two hundred."

"Anyone under a thousand seems like a teenager to me." She told him grumpily and stood up in the nest. "Where are my clothes?"

Eithahawn smiled up at her, "You are preoccupied with nudity, you humans." He stood up and brought her… an outfit that wasn't her Ranger gear.

"No, I meant, my clothes. These are elf… clothes, I mean." She knew the long overcoat design of the Mirkwood nobles by heart and rather liked those. But this was a woman's outfit, soft yellow and embroidered expertly with their sparkling threads, so that several butterflies marched around the hem. "I'm not wearing a dress."

"Curious," said Eithahawn. He looked down at the outfit in his hand. "I… I shall go to the hall of the seamstresses and tell them this garment, into which they sewed extra linings for your comfort, and onto which their careful hands fastened beads of amber and gold-rutilated quartz, is rejected." He laid a hand on it and looked up at the cavernous ceiling, patting it, lightly, as he spoke, "Though they woke in the darkness and worked to the last candle, and they set themselves apart from all who loved them, the great Istari will not wear-"

Lusis swept the dress out of his hand and vanished behind the folding screen to pull it on. But it wasn't as simple as that. There were… parts. After struggling with it for a moment she sighed heavily and spoke between her gritted teeth. "Send help."

Several healer elves – all women, thankfully – helped her to get the dress on. She was not the willowy shape of most women elves, and was gratified that the soft gold bodice was roomy. She had shoulders, a powerful torso and arms, and muscles had thickened her figure. The elf women didn't seem to notice, and didn't draw back from her many scars, or the brand she had on her hip, which was of the Buckmaster crossed antlers. She'd done that herself.

She saw the small slippers and her toes curled up. "Boots. At least give me some boots. No one can see my feet anyway."

They furnished her with soft leather boots in the same colour as the cape, which was the golden red of Mirkwood. She pulled them on while one of the girls combed her hair. With the cape on, it was almost as if she had, she realized, the small frame of any girl. It was comical to see herself in the glass the elf women brought. She wasn't sure who that girl was. Then she looked at her hip and lifted the cloak. "Sword."

There was no argument. Her sword – the elf steel sword she called hers – was handed over to her in a sheath inlaid with a panel of golden wood. It was gorgeous. She strapped it on happily and stepped out to Eithahawn.

His chin rose, his body sloped back easily. "Ah, Lusis. You look like the Yellow Istari."

She shrugged at him, "Where's the King, Eithahawn?" She pressed down the embarrassment she felt at being dressed like this – the sound of the fabric trailing behind her was unnerving – and went to join him. He laid an elegant hand in air.

"What am I supposed to do with that?" She asked pertly.

He actually made a soft huff of laughter and had to turn from her to gather himself. He looked at the wall to her right. "I missed you."

Lusis exhaled and admitted, "I missed you too, Eithahawn."

He glanced at her. "Please, Istari, if you will follow me."

He led her out of what, essentially, was an arched, petal-shaped apse in a solid stone wall. There were many of them around a central open hub where several healers inclined their heads to Eithahawn as he passed. She glanced around her as she stepped out onto a long ridge of stone, and realized she was high up, and below her, more of the Kingdom opened. She gritted her teeth, seeing as the elves didn't believe in rails, and followed behind Eithahawn, staring at his long back and waving hair.

Steed, with his elf blood, liked heights and open spaces. As for Lusis, nothing convinced her that she didn't have a speck of edhel blood like this. The Kingdom's-seneschal stopped to answer a hail from a bridge below this one and Lusis walked into his back and hid her face in his hair. He reached around behind him, highly amused. "Ah. Some humans dislike heights-"

"I'm okay with heights," she said. "I just like handrails. I like those a lot."

He caught her hands and turned to walk backwards before her, "You dislike close spaces," he nodded. "You dislike heights." He looked up and around him at the bustle of stone paths through the caverns. Mirkwood elves came and went in all directions, some of them with children racing and giggling tunefully before them. Elf children were prone to giggling.

"I don't like extremes. Too high. Too close. Extremes." She said between her teeth and held fast to his hands. "But I… I climbed mountains in the North for your father, a stretch to a summit where the stone curved out at me, and I had to rely on my hands, because my boots couldn't keep purchase. I summited the coldest mountain I've ever met to find him." She took her hands from his and noticed all the blackened bruises were gone. Her nails looked whole. "Don't fear for me. The things I am afraid of… when the time is right, I do them."

Eithahawn stopped on the stone bridge and stared at her a moment.

"What?"

He took a step back and bowed to her, the clip that ran along his hair like a half-circle of leaves glittered in the autumn light. "I owe you such a debt, my friend. Please remember me, if you have a need. I will not fail you."

She glanced around her as he straightened. In all directions, elves stopped to look on. She felt her face growing red. "Eithahawn, may you never bow to me again. Now take me to your father."

"Straightaway," he cocked his head at her and his expression was bright with genuine warmth. He brought her down the snaking path to the ground of the great cavern that was the Halls. She seemed far from the guest quarters she knew. Briefly, she wondered where the 'Inner Halls' were. The King's 'house', and whether Eithahawn still lived there with him. It would be lonely, she thought, without this little cardinal-jay of his. Eithahawn caught her gaze and said, "It is in the receiving room. It is not a place as… perhaps as humans would have. It is not a hall such as at Jan Kasia's in Lake Township. And there are guests, Lusis Buckmaster. They are elves of note through those doors. Please be warned." He told her this as they walked through rows of armoured guards in red and gold, green and gold, blue and silver. There were many before the tall doors at the end of this brief, shining hall.

Doors. Her gaze snagged on them. Doors in the Halls meant business. Unless they were for the sake of protecting their own, for securing them, Elves disliked barriers. They disliked doors between them. Even a broken line of sight could be irritating for them.

She wiped her damp palms on her velvet cloak a few times, "Right. Elves of note," she looked down at her clothes and was selfishly glad her brothers and troop hadn't seen her dressed like this. Yet. She felt anxious until she saw the light on her chest – the bright sunny star-point.

The King.

That blast furnace he kept inside. What had become of that?

She looked at the doors. There was no larger Kingdom among elfkind, and no more seasoned King in Middle-Earth. That meant he was an elf of note. He was in there.

She took off in the direction of the doors without a word to Eithahawn, her sure elven boots both quiet and fast. Two armoured elves stepped out and pulled the doors open just in time for her to charge into the room. It was full of elves. They all turned at the noise and sudden speed of her entrance, and Lusis loped through them until her eyes found a gleaming pillar, then she stopped.

He blurred with light in front of her eyes. Light shining out of him like a star.

Lusis opened her arms beside her. "Thank the gods."

His great eyes shone starlight-silver, his head tipped as he glided toward her, rich with power, backlit by a luminosity and so strangely radiant that she backed away. He halted, "Lusis?"

"My King."

"She does call you her King," said an elf woman's voice, so pure and musical, it was like a chord playing in middle register. The pacing of her words was just a touch too slow, which meant she was used to the longer and smoother glides of an elvish tongue, and her accent was so very different than the King's.

The woman emerged from behind him. They had been standing together and talking, both of them so breathtakingly radiant they had washed-out her ability to see their details.

"My… my Lady," Lusis was no fool. She knew this was someone incredible just from looking up into her foam pale skin, her horizon-blue eyes, waving pale blonde hair covered in a webbing of silver Mithril dotted with pale blue and white gemstones. That 'crown' fell all the way to the small of her back. Lusis wrung her fingers and looked at the Elfking.

His pale hand moved, rested on his ribs. It rolled so the palm faced the floor and pressed down just slightly. Be at ease. Be calm. She sucked a deep breath. No matter where she looked, she was the shortest person in the room.

She managed a subdued smile for the tall shining elf woman. "My name is Lusis Buckmaster. It's nice to meet you."

The elf woman smiled in return, as if it was habit, which was unusual and should have been reassuring in an elf. "It is also good to meet you," she drifted toward Lusis, who took an involuntary step back from this shining being. She seemed like something expertly carved out of ice: beautiful, still-faced, and too ideal. So effortless she might have been a bride to the Elvenking.

Thranduil didn't move, didn't edge toward her. She glanced back and could see Eithahawn in the room behind her – the place was aglow, and perfectly silent – he didn't come near her either, but his hands, folded together before him, pushed out a little, which was Elven for 'Go'.

Go where? There was too much light in the room, too much greatness. Their motions, their lack thereof, their small glances and slight leanings, their barely perceptible tilts and silent folding-in, it was overwhelming. She looked at Thranduil and shook her head. He could dress her up in gold threads and put gloss in her hair, but he couldn't change what she was. Not enough for this.

"Who are these people?"

"They are friends."

"Not my friends."

"We are ever friends of the Istari," the glowing woman said. "You did travel here with Glorfindel. He is my kin."

"That makes you a Noldor." Lusis told the lady elf, she added, "Great Lady." She had terrible luck with most Noldor. Though there was Lindir. He was so even-tempered and considerate it was probably impossible not to like him. She found him when he stepped up beside taller Eithahawn and inclined his head in greeting.

"Yes. I am Galadriel, the Lady of Lorien."

Lusis' head swiveled back around quickly enough it hurt. This was the Lady Galadriel? She'd heard the talk: Lady of the Lorien; Shining Lady of the Galadrim; Bearer of Nenya, one of the three Elven Rings of Power. She had kept Lorien and her Silvan Galadrim from seeing the darkness of Sauron, or open conflict for two Ages, the Second and Third, and during that time the Silvan across the Anduin in Mirkwood, had been under constant assault, taking bitter losses in their endless war with Darkness. So Lusis' opinion of her was… complicated.

People called Thranduil insular. Lusis had overheard it in the petition room on her first day here, and in Lake Township among gathered businessmen. But the greatest darkness of the Ages had pushed Thranduil's beleaguered people North of the Mirkwood Mountains with steady bombardment… and no Ring of Power had come for them. Insular was catching. She looked at Galadriel a bit breathlessly, caught between wonder, fear of her, and adulation of the light she emanated. "Welcome, Lady of Lorien, to Mirkwood." She added a pointed, "Have you ever been before?"

Somewhere behind her, among the tall tree-like elves, she swore, someone laughed. That was probably not a good sign.

The Lady Galadriel turned her glorious head as Thranduil stepped up beside her. It was ridiculous how perfect they looked together. And she actually smiled at him, with the flesh under her pale eyes gathering up in a way that was so wonderful it made Lusis gawp. "Thranduil-gael, I will say to you what I have said before," she turned toward him and Lusis saw she was barefoot. "Nothing you do, nothing you are, is wearying." Now Galadriel turned her head in Lusis' direction. "Do you see my light, little Istari?"

Lusis nodded immediately. "Lady… the two of you, together…" she glanced at Thranduil and wondered what she'd done to him. He was burning white-hot. "The two of you, together, smother the details of this room with your lights."

"And you see the light of the rest of us?" This was Glorfindel from close beside her. He was tall, and so expertly cleaned up he seemed almost… mysterious in his cloudy blue robes, all in the style of Mirkwood. He cocked his head, and very nearly his upper body. "It… is it possible for her to be speechless?"

Thranduil's long lashes beat in amusement as he said, "One need only wait for-"

"What are they all doing here, my King?" she looked into the blue light of Glorfindel and up at his face. "Beautiful colour, actually, warm, pale blue." She turned from him, "Please forgive any discourtesy," she inhaled deeply, "I'm a human and I don't know your ways."

"She isn't an Istari, then?" a youngish elf – which meant nothing – raised her cream-brown head in question and looked, immediately to Galadriel.

"My seneschal, Meluien." Galadriel gave a soft, graceful gesture at the Silvan beauty. Meluien, like her lady, was dressed in layers of sheer, pale material, but the fabric was soft peach in colour rather than her Lady's white and silver. Like Eithahawn, Meluien wore a 'half crown'. In this sense, it was like the Elfking's Living Crown, because it wrapped the back of their heads. Meluien's was a half-ring of morning glories in silver, and like Eithahawn's, it clipped into her fair hair.

Lusis nodded at her, "Right. Nice to meet you too, Meluien, and… everyone. Please believe me. It is with great and deep respect that I say to you, unless you fought off a filthy ball of bats, a slaughter of Orcs, a pack of Warg-riders, climbed a mountain, or fought six dragons, your questions have to wait in line." She added onto the end of that, "Behind mine."

Few moved. For her part, Galadriel looked animated, as if delighted by Lusis' candor. Her great Elfking's blue-silver gaze explored the ceiling for a moment, as if he'd left something up there, for instance, his facility at maintaining that fabricated pleasantry he wore in gatherings like these. When he looked up at Lusis, he did so by degrees: first down and to the right of her, with his eyelashes low, then he shifted and his long body leaned back at the hip as he glanced at her. He looked impressed. "Lusis, this is the Council of Departing. It is also known as the Council of the West. They witness the last great strongholds of our kind. Eithahawn has been host to them as I toured the vast holdings of Mirkwood. And now select among the remaining leaders of the elves in Middle Earth have been assembled to meet these Emissaries, our guests," he paused a heartbeat, "from the West."

Oh. She turned slowly to the tall elves behind her. Closest to her was a very tall, snowy elf. He was so colourless that it was startling. He looked like solid marble. She glanced around at the others. They were all dressed in floor-length hooded-cloaks – shirred velvet, but in a style that was not familiar to her. The man closest to her took down his hood with long fingers and he was stunning. Tallest of the Emissaries. His hair the colour of blameless lily, and eyes that were, she swore, the colour of sea ice. Behind him was an elf with thick and starkly black hair, like ink against the paper whiteness of his skin. His eyes were the bright colour of a copper coin. The final guest was a tall woman. She had rings of golden hair, a delicate, heart-shaped face, and cheeks and lips like pale peonies. But her eyes were no nonsense – a deep blue at their extremity, they grew more colourless the nearer the soft oblong of her pupil. Apart from her eyes, she might have looked sweet. But they were fierce.

These strangers all wore circlets, but they were unlike anything in Middle Earth. Metal, but filmy and gossamer, in designs that were both radiant by nature and foreign. There was one in silver, one of copper, and one of shining gold. They were incredibly refined. Before them, she felt more rough-hewn and barbaric than usual. But also more capable of brutal decision. She stepped back and eased minutely between them and the Elfking.

They inclined their heads as one.

The Elvenking's voice remained light. "There is a visitor for each among the Three Kindred."

"The Teleri," said the blond woman elf, and her voice rolled with the soft shush of waves.

"The Noldor," sparked the black-haired man. And one of his dark brows rose playfully.

The colourless one finished in a voice like spring wind itself, "The Vanyar," the great ghostly elf laid a hand full of more of that unfamiliar filmy jewelry onto his chest, "I am Loss. My Noldor friend is Osp. Our Teleri companion is Glir."

She murmured, "They have short names in the West."

"When I was born," the ghost elf's head moved slowly over to the right, and his accent was so thick that it whirred underneath like leaves gusting on a breeze, "there were not names."

For the first time in her life, Lusis managed something approaching elvish doll-face. She astonished herself by, on the same day, and the same hour, very nearly pivoting around to face her King in the way an elf would. "Well, isn't that fascinating."

The Elfking inhaled a steadying breath, and she caught a hint of something like anxiety in his eyes when he looked at her again. That was enough to mobilize her.

"It's wonderful to meet the Council of the West, my King, but we are in Middle-Earth, and there is business at hand. Pardon me for insisting on this, but does anyone else know they are here?"

Galadriel ducked close beside her, to study her serious face and large dark eyes. "Their travels are a closely kept secret, Yellow Istari. Do you fear for them?"

She looked at the Lady and inclined her head, "I protect elves."

"And what about Men?" Galadriel's beauteous expression warmed. "Dwarves? Little Hobbits?"

"If they're innocent and in my path, they have my protection," Lusis told her without hesitation, even though she didn't know what a Hobbit really was. "But when you are in Mirkwood, my Lady, you are with the ones that my heart calls my family, and my people."

Her eyes glittered with surprise, "Why is that?"

"When I came here, I was at my most desperate. My life was being strangled out of me. No one I knew, or had known, could help my sorry case, great Lady. These elves owed me nothing, and through," she glanced over her shoulder at the Kindred and said, "bravery, bloodshed, and brilliance, they won me back my life." She opened her arms and looked at Galadriel. "They saved me, and let me walk free in the world."

"There is something about him," said the shining princess of the Galadrim. She spoke from close beside Lusis and just slightly bent because, though Lusis was tall, they were not of a height. It was surprising to Lusis that the Lady Galadriel looked so interested and engaged, as if curiosity was her habit. The woman's low, soft voice said, "Learning him is a form of art. There is some stroke of discovery, of creation, about him that puts a lie to any theory of… allotments within our kind, allotments of grace, some greater, some lesser, or so I have always believed. In my first days looking upon him, he was but a heartfelt prince. He was quiet and observant in those days, and very gentle. I saw in him the beauty of the Vanyar, the intelligence esteemed of my own kind, and the freedom of the Teleri." She looked aside at the Elfking who stepped back to hear word from an Elite at the side of the room. The King turned to the Three Kindred and spoke to them in an elvish language Lusis hadn't heard before. Galadriel finished, "And I find in that, great hope, Lusis Buckmaster. What do you find in it?"

"Great change," she told the Lady and nodded.

Galadriel straightened away and her lovely head rose. She was pleased. "We must speak again when events aren't so… pressing, friend of Thranduil's, and now, friend of my own." Her pale hands and perfectly maintained nails reached out and smoothed the fallen shoulder of Lusis' cloak back into position. She leaned close, and her expression became quite serious, "Do not be afraid to speak your mind among us, different as you are. In the end, there is no other lamp for guidance in the world. Do not snuff yours for the foxfire of others, no matter how magnificent."

Lusis' eyes widened. "Lady, why can't I see their fires?"

"They lived in the light of the Two Trees for an Age. Now they must hide their merits behind their storm-cloaks, lest they overwhelm us all." Her pale brows rose.

She wasn't joking. Lusis braced herself. She whispered, "Have they come to claim you?"

Galadriel exhaled, "Perhaps. Slowly… in ways that are not forceful. Yet. They come… to size the remains of the population, to learn who will be joining them, and know the natures of those people. We go into their territories, their culture, you must remember." Her great blue eyes glanced over the unfamiliar cut of the robes these men wore, with silvery cords of metal no thicker than an eyelash patterning through their fabric and glowing softly. She took a breath that lifted her shoulders, and smoothed her glinting sleeve of dress with her flawless hands. "All elves are their elves. Except, they fear, The Last Elves. We. We hold-outs from the West. We exiles, some. They come to judge the difficulty of the task of incorporating us as we have become. We are told that many messages have travelled the water, out of concern for us – their kin. But… perhaps they also come in search of some sign of what other fires burn in this place. Fires powerful enough to keep us here." She glanced down, her blonde lashes low, "As if the beauty of this world could not, itself, hold us enthralled."

"As we have become?" Lusis felt herself frown. She tried to keep pace with the much taller woman's patrol, around and around in this far edge of the room. Gliding. Throwing her light on the walls and Lusis. "What does it mean?"

"Wild. Warlike." She laid a hand on her own chest.

"Excuse me, my Lady?" Lusis blinked at her in her cascade of silver. "They called you wild and warlike?" What must they think of humans? Lusis pointedly didn't look at them. She made for a row of shining trays in the room, laid out along the wall on a natural stone outcropping smoothed to luscious glossiness. There were no chairs, but, on looking up, she noted that one wall was carved deep with rows of benches like drawings she'd seen of 'lecture halls' in Gondor, in spite of the fact the elves she knew only ever seemed to sit about in mixed company. They preferred to stand and move around and few of them were still for long.

Galadriel's pale hands reached for a vessel of silver, and Lusis poured the grand Lady a cup of water and held the cup aloft. It was the finest cut of crystal she had ever seen. Gingerly, she handed it to the Lady of Lorien, who promptly poured her a cup as well. "No it was not me they thought warlike, young Yellow Istari." She looked aside at where the Elfking reappeared in the room and came to a stop wordlessly looking at the Council of the West.

Speaking in their minds.

"Can you hear them?"

"At some distance," said the Mithril-silver Lady. Then her eyes widened at the thought of this innocent misbehavior, "Are we eavesdropping?"

Lusis' brows drew down and she turned to the Lady Galadriel slowly. "The Elfking-"

"Thranduil," said the Lady quietly.

"Uh, yes. The Elfking-"

Her pink lips curved into a playful smile, "Goodness. He will forget his name."

The woman wasn't anything Lusis had been brought to expect, she sucked a steading breath and said, "He… told me his wife was mischievous. You strike me as the same. Is it possible you're friends?"

"Ah," now she brightened like a lamp. "Lethroneth, my spy from this place, she told me of you, and that you will protect him."

"Yes, I will. He protected me first," Lusis nodded.

"If you are his friend," the elf Lady bent over her and the smell of sweet-grass rose to untamed perfection in the room, "do not let him forget his name when I am gone."

Lusis felt a sudden gasp in her chest. "You're leaving with them?" She'd only just met this woman, and, already, the thought of her going into the West left her with an empty ache.

Galadriel saw this and her effortless expression shifted. She inhaled, her brows drew up in that way that spoke of sudden sadness. She set down her cup and Lusis reached out and folded her tanned hand around the great Lady's. Galadriel recovered. Her free hand came up to lay over the decades of scars that had just reached out to steady her. She looked at an old wound in Lusis' palm. "When I was newly married I left home, husband, and the hearths of my kind to search for your Elfking. During the time of Dragons in the North, he was feared lost – you may not know this. I learned of this. And I did remember him, that beautiful young man of quick wit, and quicker temper. I am told we were so lovely, and that was why we would be seated together at arrangements – often above his station, but the elves love beauty. His father was not a noble. No one would speak to him, but I was beside him at nearly every function. We were a pair of lilies in the same water. So I did. As I look at memory… I realize that a wildly different way of thinking is not a failing, it is not a fearsome sign, if it also does good. I believe you also understand that."

Lusis told her, "I love that about him."

"You love a lot about him," she smiled in cheerful reply. "And he trusts you. So I ask you to remember his name to him. Even one such as he is must be close to another. How will he grieve? I must go to the West. I must go ahead of my husband, and my friend."

Lusis' chin rose. He'd already lost so much. "I… I'll keep an eye on him for you. As long as I can."

Galadriel released her hand and pushed back a stray lock of Lusis' hair, "A very long time. But the favour I have come to ask is more complex than that, Yellow Istari. Will you hear me out?"

Elves. Full of favours. Giving, and getting. "I will hear you out." She smiled at the Lady.

"I am grateful," the Lady inclined her head. "In truth… my love and my friend have never gotten along. The relationship is more badly fractured than I had thought. But when I leave, I will go without either. You see, they are both Sinda, and I… there are things I must do to prepare for them. This is less pressing for Celeborn, perhaps. He is a Teleri noble from a line of nobles. And he is wonderful," she smiled with her pale teeth this time, unable to contain herself, "They will hail him. But Thranduil... is not a noble. He is rarely biddable and obedient. He is not controllable."

By this time Lusis was smiling as she nodded in agreement. "He has a lot of strong points."

The Lady had to turn her slender body right and look away to keep from laughing. Lusis glanced from Eithahawn's bow toward the King and how he peeked, somewhat fretfully, at the snow-white Vanyar. The King nearly touched Eithahawn to calm him, before he stepped away. He closed his hands behind his back.

"Celeborn and Thranduil should be a comfort to each other," Galadriel said softly. Her head tipped left, and her voice sounded sad. "But neither of them have enough tempering in them. My husband is proud and strong, but he can be austere. And then there is Thranduil."

Lusis chuckled, which was a most alien voice in a room full of elves. The Elfking looked at her and some of the tension drained from his long body. His voice carried in the dome of room, when, at a distance, he summoned her. "Lusis Buckmaster, I am sorry to separate you from our guests, particularly as you've had no other chance to meet the Lady." He took a single step forward, which all in the room witnessed, and stopped himself at once. In formal proceedings a King was not moved by others, they were expected to be moved by him.

Galadriel inclined her head to him. Yes.

In answer to this, Thranduil bent his body a little to the glowing Lady. This was more than Lusis had ever seen of him.

He continued, "I have need of you. It is the business of the Kingdom." Then he turned from Lusis entirely, and took several slow steps for an intersecting hall.

Time was short. Lusis looked back at Lady Galadriel. Her voice was low and hurried, "Lady, it might be a long time before you see your husband and the Elfking again, once you leave. I'll do my best to… help them understand each other's strengths. I suspect they know all about one another's weaknesses."

Galadriel bowed her golden head in parting, and Lusis smiled. "You have my word."

How was it possible to miss someone you'd just met? But she regretted that she left the Lady of Lorien, perhaps never to see her sunny face – the picture of gladness – again.

She went to the Elfking's side and he said some sibilantly gorgeous words in a language that didn't sound like Sindarin, at least from what she'd heard of it. The Vanyar's snow-coloured eyes found her, momentarily, and he replied in a raincloud voice.

The Elfking exhaled as they turned and went through an arched tube of hall that was some six feet wide, and twenty four tall. She could feel the weight of old and rolling orogeny over her head. Where they were now was deeper in the earth than she was used to. The top of the cavern was lit by long blown glass tubes that ended in teardrops of fire light. Long fibers of pure white wick ran down into them. It was hard to see that from so far below. The walls were inlaid with blue stone butterflies and the flying red and golden leaves from which the Kingdom had taken its colours. Other halls intersected this one, but they stayed along the straightaway for a very long way. Two minutes of walking, and he paused to look down at her with his silvery eyes.

"Tell me what you think of them, Istari?"

"They are fine elves," she glanced up at him, sober, in spite of the unfamiliarity of the elven dress that she wore. "But you and yours are just as fine."

"The Vanyar, Loss…." Thranduil sucked in a deep breath and then his brows swept up. "I can feel the force of him in these halls no matter where I am. The others are little better."

"That's probably beyond his ability to control," she shrugged, "as you can't dim the splendor that lives inside of you… and so his grandeur doesn't matter to me, as long as he and the others remember whose Halls these are."

He stopped and looked at her. "Do you not understand, Lusis Buckmaster? Their purity is far in excess of my own. Their incorruptibility. They are spotless with power." He said this in a heatless way, and with a feathery, weightless voice.

She stepped up to him. "And why do you think this world has ruined something in you? I'd venture you and yours, Legolas, Eithahawn, all your elves, have stood against greater Darkness than they can imagine, and for Ages. Compared to that, what good is untested virtue?" Lusis scoffed and continued walking without him.

Behind her back, the Elvenking lowered his head and allowed the weight of his fears to prickle across his skin. Glorfindel had shaken him to his very core. He would rather die than guard a door for the remains of forever. He wasn't a compliant being. He wasn't the great and yet tractable man they sought. He was in every margin of him, a King. He loved this world. He deeply loved his home, and the ghostly memory of his wife here. This was his life because he'd chosen it after it had chosen him. This.

Was it wrong?

Lusis glanced at the many constellations of firelight above her. "Well, I disagree. Even if living in this world had marred your innocence in some way, it would have been far less virtuous to let the evils of this world rampage across all the lands, unchecked." She lashed out her sword, nearly as fast as an elf, "If you fought them, they were meant to be fought by you. If you lost something, it was meant to be lost. I do believe that Vanyar elf never set a toe on these lands to be tested until Middle-Earth was washed by the tears of Sindar, Silvan, exiles, and Men, and wiped clean again. That is, unless you've had Council of the West visitors in the past."

"We have not," he drifted along and listened to her closely, drafting on her wake.

She spun her sword in air, a graceful silver arch she passed over behind her back, "Then virtue is only part of goodness. The rest must be some other mixture of grit, suffering, determination, failure, and triumph that he may know nothing about. For everything life snatched from you, this world gave you something in exchange. Great knowledge is not considered a form of grace by your kind. Men feel the same about great ignorance."

He said from behind her, "They do not weigh what I have done here."

"That's a mistake," she put her sword away and slowed until she could walk beside him. "Each mistake is a point of exploit. It can be used to help them do the right things, Elfking."

There was a long pause before his eyes became downcast and he said, "You sound like my wife."

Lusis looked away at the intricate butterflies along the wall, each pulling nearly imperceptible bars and musical arrangements behind them, "I'm sorry… if it hurt you."

"No," he said somewhat hollowly. "I'd rather remember her. It's… better that way. It's…."

She reached back, found his fingers, and wrapped her hand around them. No one should be stranded with such desperate sadness. She released him, as was proper, when they reached the outpouring at the end of the hall. Here, there was a large cavern with growing trees inside. It was on the other side of the old stone hill under which they'd just walked. The sun streamed through bubbled and irregular glass inclusions in the stone as thick as her arm was long. In the sun, seated in a very curious chair, with his long legs curled under him, and under a blanket of red and gold, was Lord Elrond of Rivendell. He was paler than she remembered of his somewhat humanly-pink skin. His dark blue eyes were shut, as if he dozed with the great tome he wrote in open in his lap.

Raineth stood watch over him, as did several Mirkwood Elite guards that Lusis had only seen in passing and didn't know except in seeing them in contact with Ewon and the others. But they seemed to know her, by the sudden flicker of quickly suppressed smiles that passed through the Elites along the walls. Lusis felt the tightness in her chest ease. "Where is Dorondir? I would have expected him here."

"Eithahawn had put him in House Arrest."

She glanced up at the King, "What?"

"Yes," the Elfking told her, "for failing to carry me out of the slaughter of Orcs with Lord Elrond. And so, when I asked for him to report his travel to me, shortly after I arrived, he was brought in with a silver chain bound to a steel bracer."

Lusis snorted at the notion. "If I recall correctly, you were having a relaxing time. It would have been impolite for him to interrupt. Elves are not impolite as a rule."

Within that pillar of light to which her eyes were still adjusting, the Elfking's gaze brightened. He favoured her with a dimpled smile. "He has been released," the Elfking told her. "He should be here."

"He's gone," Elrond's deep eyes opened slowly, and his sonorous voice sounded a low note in the cavern, "I had a sudden craving for pine-nut flax bread with generous butter."

"That boy cannot seem to do enough for you," the Elfking walked to join the Lord of Rivendell, and lifted the book from his lap to the table. "Let's have wine."

The Lord of Rivendell's long hair was unbound, a mass of dark tresses over the top rail of the high-backed chair in which he sat. The Elfking simply eased it along the floor to a low table some feet from them, and it rolled because the legs were fitted into depressions in a small wooden platform onto which wooden wheels were fitted. It was a strange, but convenient arrangement. When they stopped, the Elfking pulled a rest from under the chair and Elrond gratefully lowered his legs onto it.

Lusis reached for the Lord of Rivendell's chest and her King intercepted her hand, folding his own around it. "Yes, this was the way it was to be. You were to heal him and use me. But that cannot happen now. We can but hope that the enemy believes I slipped their trap of my own ingenuity."

Lusis saw a flash of those eyes, again, in her mind, as she freed the fire of the King.

Lord Elrond reached out and touched the small platter of various flavours of jams and butters, "You've been known to be ingenious in the past."

"And you for being resolute." Said the Elfking, "And you will not waver in the face of this attack either, until such a time as our good Istari can do… what it is she does, to restore you."

"Does what you do hurt a great deal?" Elrond's pale face found her with some humour.

"I… I don't know," she took his hand because it was trembling.

The Elfking noted. "She is too full of mercy, Lord Elrond. It is only possible to suffer this if she is ignorant to the degree of the effect."

Sometimes he was a very annoying man, her King.

He poured two cups of wine, glanced over Lusis, and thought the better of it. "The Yellow Istari met the Lady of Lorien just now."

"Oh," Elrond's great large eyes found her, "perhaps she is in love by now?"

Lusis glanced up at the Elfking. Then her eyes slid over to Dorondir as he drifted to the table and laid a generous helping of several types of thick, cake-like, nut breads onto the cloth. The slices smelled rich and steamed, freshly made. "My thanks," murmured Lord Elrond. Lusis stepped aside, turned, and without warning, threw her arms around the barrel of the elf's chest.

Dorondir nearly backed into a planter before the King called for him to stop.

This was probably the very first elf Lusis had ever spoken to in the world, and she'd come to care about his wellbeing no differently than she did the safety of her own troop. She released him and winced up into his handsomely astonished face. "I'm sorry for the surprise, Dorondir. I had heard things that caused me to worry."

He blinked his large green eyes at her and managed to look very young. "Lusis-Istari, please save your worry for my Lord and my King."

"The King is well, and I'll be dealing with the ailing Lord," she glanced back at his low and crimson flame, "as soon as my King turns his back for a sufficiently long period of-"

The Lord Elrond chuckled as he selected two white slices of pine-nut bread and a spread of butter that was speckled with sugar. His voice rumbled, "You will not be allowed to do such a thing, Istari. Truly, you are as he espoused."

The Elfking's hand nudged her at the elbow and then curled under her arm so lightly she could scarcely feel him through the fabric, "Come, Lusis-sell. Eat something. A body cannot endure on so little nourishment." He drew her to the table and guided her to the seat across from Lord Elrond out of his reach. The smoke-coloured eyes of the Elflord saw this with amusement.

"Why can't I heal you?" She glanced back at the Elfking, who had been withdrawing, and he came back to stand just behind her. This was due to his reading the type of glance she'd given as 'Come here' or 'Follow', though it was possible he thought she would lunge across the table and simply 'fix' whatever had befallen Elrond. "And how quickly do you think I can make this change, anyway?"

"Heartbeats." The Elfking said to her then. "It was but three heartbeats before all the taint of it flowed out of my body. Then I fell, insensate, atop the Istari at my feet." He shifted weight and gave her a look.

It was embarrassing. She occupied herself by taking a pinkish slice of bread made with the juice of cherries and spooning some mixed-berry compote and cream onto it. She waggled it in air a little. The stuff was heavy and built like thick pastry. "It… it took longer… where I was."

The elves looked at one another, and even Dorondir drifted closer.

"Where were you?" asked the Lord Elrond.

"Wherever he went." She made a head gesture at the King. "And he went to a grey place."

"Twilight," Elrond said quietly. "The obsession of the Sinda, and why their eyes are so sure in the grey in-between that puzzles the rest of the world."

"Tell me. Tell me why you won't let me help you."

"Because," Elrond's brows rose, "right now, as we sit here, I can feel the pull of the East on me. It is a sure thing that the Elfking felt it too, at one time. The challenge of finding an explanation was simplified with both of us suffering the weight of it. Simple math."

"Triangulation." Said the Elfking. "Up until the point where you… did what you did." His brows drew down and he looked into his wine, unwilling to meet her gaze.

"You're angry." She guessed.

"I'm… not," the Elfking's soft bottom lip caught in his teeth and rolled out. "It's not anger. The task has become more difficult by your action… but I do not regret my restoration, Lusis Buckmaster. The Lord Elrond will not regret his own."

"But for now," the dark-haired elf's chin rose, and his deep voice rolled through the room, "for now I must remain in this affected state for long enough that we can use this pull I feel to guide us back to the wrongdoer."

"Something else happened to you on that mountain," Lusis said around cherry bread. The elves had a way of making bread taste like pound cake. If there was pound cake, she could imagine it would taste like premium sweetmeats. She glanced at the King, who was still stationed behind her and looking at her golden-threaded dark brown hair.

"I do not have a clear memory of it," the Elfking said. "We are better served trying to glean what the Lord remembers."

"Just taking messages," said Elrond quietly and then raised his right hand, "and this." On the heel of his hand, near the base of his thumb, was a small and discolored burn.

Lusis started to get up to go to the Lord, but the Elfking's irresistible mandate stayed her in her chair. Also, his long hand turned over in air before her so that she could see he had something very similar, a fading circle of burn on the pad of his pale hand, just under his index finger. "One might have been a coincidence, but a pair of these?"

"The delivery systems… would need to be very different." Lusis turned in her seat and tapped the King's hand with her fingertip. His skin was no longer angry with the burn, and there were no longer details to be seen. She looked at the anonymous and faded burn, hatefully, because she was sure what had befallen these great elves was no accident. "But they have in common, the North. Or so Lindir said. He said that, before you fell ill, my Lord, you had mail from messengers who smelled like winter. That means couriers like the people of Buckmaster Spur, or we Buckmasters ourselves." Her voice waggled a bit on that, and she looked at the King's pale, graceful hand, and thought of her father, and how livid he would be made by news like this.

"I would think so," Elrond admitted. "Thranduil, you were fighting dragons, were you not?"

"Yes, and one of the dragons carried me to the summits of Bregolnag where we began to strive against one another, mightily. She was a female of the winter breed, and bright. My thoughts are clear to the point where I cut away her head. But confusion overtook me then." He allowed his hand to be inspected by the curious Istari, and held it wordlessly still before her. "When I did come to, by then the cold was bitter. A killing cold. Night was drawing in. But I was yet adulterated on the snow, unaware of where I truly was, what Age I was in, and unable to rise. On the point of collapse, I used the dragon's blood for heat."

Elrond's mouth opened, and then eased shut around an exhalation. "You survived by way of setting one certainty of death against the other, old friend. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Thranduil's fingers moved. He squeezed Lusis' hand in his own. "And no. I had a strong prospect of rescue." His glance in Lusis' direction was thankful.

She turned his hand over again. "I can feel something there." Lusis pushed aside her little wood platter and extended her arm across the table to Elrond. "I won't break the spell. I swear, but…"

Elrond shook his head. "Istari, I am well warned. As the King has many times discussed with me, I am also our last lead. If we are truly serious about tracking this thing back to its place of origin, it falls to me to endure this a-"

The King snatched up Lord Elrond's hand and inspected it. He slid his fingertips along the burn, which caused Rivendell's Lord to press his lips in a line against pain.

"I can, indeed, feel an impression in your flesh. A mark, Lord Elrond." The King muttered. "An unstructured mark with raised edges."

Lusis stood at her seat, "Yes, and I was in a strong Northern gale with you, my King. I saw that it suppressed your fire. That light inside of you is held back by force. I saw it when I delivered you from it. But the effort must be colossal. The force, itself, tore at my touch. I protected the flame, and when it grew, it burst through the wind. Even I had to flee from it. It proved to me that it's not a natural thing that has befallen you. Your fires are meant to burn. What I don't understand is how the marks are still on you?"

"Like scars." The King released Lord Elrond's hand at last.

"Like a waxen seal," she looked up at Lord Elrond, suddenly. "Wait. With what do you open the mail?"

"A steel opener. Elven paper can produce a cut." The Lord shrugged slightly, and it was the most human motion that she'd ever seen in an elf. It was… strange. Elrond seemed, in a distant way, like Men. It was faint, but… she could see it.

The Elfking asked. "What was in the letter?"

Lord Elrond suddenly seemed startled. His brows rose and he prepared to set in with an explanation, and realized he had none. "Why," he glanced from his memory and looked up at the blond Sindar, "there was none. Just… just the envelope, empty. I remember looking at it after my head cleared, and feeling that I should not touch it."

"There is little enough in common between a dragon and a letter," said the Elfking. He nipped his bottom lip and then turned to Dorondir, to whom he extended a graceful hand.

Dorondir was Elrond's spy in Mirkwood, but elves were good, and spies selected for their ability to endure an inevitable crisis of loves – loyalty to two masters, two elf cities. Dorondir bowed to the Lord, Elrond, and then to the Elfking. Then he took a flat leather packet from the inside of the cloak he wore. Wordlessly, he set it on the table.

The Elfking took Lusis' hand back from touching the paper.

Dorondir undid the white ribbon that closed the packet and took out an envelope and a thin sliver of silvery metal whose handle was shaped like a crow feather. He set both on the white cloth and backed away with his eyes on Lord Elrond.

"You took these from my office?" the Lord's powerful voice had quelled. He was taken aback.

Dorondir bowed low, "Lord's-seneschal Lindir stepped over these when he took you out, but… in the room this seemed the last thing you touched, along with the opener," he turned his head. "I took them because I so strongly believed that my King could figure this thing out, whether you woke or not." He straightened, set a hand on his chest, and swung it out to open to the Lord. His head remained bowed in surrender. That was part of what the gesture was. Helplessness to do anything but love and respect another.

He gave the same gesture to the Elvenking of the Halls and the King's head tipped softly. "Elrond, the true reason for a spy… is to see in him or her… the esteem for another power, another place. If the love is strong-"

"The house is worthy," Elrond sipped his wine and looked at the letter. "Good Thranduil… I'm not touching that thing again. I also advise you against it."

"But you forget that I have," he took and raised Lusis' unresisting hand. She managed her embarrassment. Truthfully, she didn't want it to mar the simple pleasure of holding the hand of the Elvenking, even though he meant the gesture as one-part for her restraint, and one-part for the protection she proffered. She would protect him. In the world, he was one of the very few who could hope to restrain her.

The Lord held his breath when the Elvenking's pale hand reached to the envelope. He set his fingertips on the roughness of the paper.

"Lusis?"

"Next to nothing," she shrugged. "You're safe."

He released her hand and lifted the thing. After a moment of staring at it in their expectant silence, he turned it over. "Such yellow and coarse paper. No watermark to it. It is not elven. We produce our paper from mulches of wood dust and it is pressed differently. Each land has a mark."

"Mirkwood has several." Mused Lord Elrond.

"Yes. There are many communities outside my Halls," said the Elfking distractedly. "I rule them. I don't tell them where they must reside." His pale eyes were fixed as he looked into the envelope. "No address. No name. No writing whatsoever. Just a seal…."

"As happens more than you would think when dealing with the Northern Dunedain." Elrond made a graceful gesture at the blank condition of the envelope. "I thought it no more than a letter from them. Even Tatharion will send missives in this state, and many there can write in tengwar. They believe any letters intercepted in this state will tell the interceptor very little."

"And here we are," the Elvenking said dryly. He set the letter on the table before him and leaned over it. "Did you feel or hear anything within it before you opened it? Coins would make sound, and the weight of the envelope would be irregular. It would no longer be completely flat." His head tipped and his eyes narrowed. He pulled the envelope closer.

"I felt nothing of the sort, and heard nothing. It could only have been a slip of paper," Elrond's head slowly tipped forward and he asked, "Do… my old friend, do you honestly believe you will learn something about the identity of our attacker from as common an object as an envelope?"

The Elfking's pale grey eyes widened. He snuffled the red seal, which had a simple impression upon it – a gull. His eyes narrowed, "Lightning."

Lusis gawped and knocked the thing out of his hand. It fluttered to the floor where she stood over it. Dorondir looked at her oddly and she told him, "Know what smells like lightning?"

"Dragon's blood." The Elfking looked across at Elrond. "That is the spell, Lord of Rivendell. That is what laid you low. Enchantments created by someone resourceful enough that the seal has mint oil mixed in its wax, lest you detect the smell of the dragon's blood that makes it dark red. And the gull is a symbol… of what? The sea? The West? A gull may travel back and forth freely."

His white-blond head cocked mildly left and a faraway look crossed his lowered lids. He was a sea elf, after all. She wondered that he wore no crown in the presence of the Council of the West. He was, before anything else, a King. He needed to remind them of that.

The Elfking's eyes rose, "When you opened the seal, it was little different than when I opened the dragon. Steel to blood." He eyed the little crow's feather of steel that the Lord used on letters. Its make was incredibly refined. The forges at Rivendell were Noldorian and second to none.

"Would that your dragon had been the author of this. You've taken her head," Elrond sighed and eased back in his chair. "If this had been her cleverness, I could heal of this and walk free of this place. As it is, Loss of the Vanyar is saying he should bear me West at once. He is one of Those Who Woke. They have no father but Eru."

Lusis found it terribly hard to believe, "He's that old?" she added, "Really?"

"Most Vanyar should be," the Elfking drained his wine and set the cup on the table. "It is simplicity itself to deal with someone who is as old as time, I assure you. And you, Lord, will pay for abandoning the field during their visit."

Elrond held up a flattened hand and said, "Paying. Right now." He gave a mildly satisfied smile.

Lusis glanced over at the Elflord, "To confirm… we're using Lord Elrond to find the enemy?"

"That is the only plan you left to us," the Elfking told her. "You healed me."

"If you had any sense, you'd let me heal you both," she sighed at him and then pressed her palm to her forehead. "But you're so full of schemes and plans."

His head raised. "I am."

She couldn't help the smile that crossed her face. He was inveterate. She glanced over her shoulder at Dorondir who still looked at her. She picked up the envelope and put it back in the parcel he'd carried. "We need to seal it away."

"Fire will seal it," said the glowing King beside her. "I will see to it."

"Dorondir, I haven't seen my troop, or my brothers, since waking, or my elf-friends, and Ewon was hurt. Can you take me to them?" She looked down at herself, "Right after you take me to a change of clothes. To my Ranger clothes, I mean. Wherever they are."

"Of course, friend-Lusis," he said quietly. "Please pardon me, great ones."

The Elfking stood aside and watched Lusis closely with his silver eyes as she passed from him and went to stand with Dorondir. "Please call for me if you discover more," she asked uselessly, for the shining Elfking had already averted his long eyes to the right. She soaked in the sight of him, glowing like some celestial arm curled in him and a star lodged in his heart. He was breathtaking.

Lusis hurried to turn from him.

Dorondir gave a departing bow and closed his hands behind him as he walked with her.

They went out by way of a hall that sloped upward, and they were entering the main body of the guest halls before she spoke to him again.

"I hear they threw you in jail." She said quietly. "I'm sorry about that."

"Thank you, friend-Lusis," his chin dropped, which was as close to a nod as his kind came. "I am grateful it was house-arrest. I was kept in the upper caverns by the offices of the King's Elites. They… they made sure I was comfortable and cared for."

She glanced over at him, "Still. You obeyed your King, and were punished for it."

"I forsook my King for the sake of my Lord, and I am a spy, friend-Lusis. I believe Eithahawn did the right thing by his King and his father. I believe he feared he might do me violence if he did not put me out of his sight."

"You strike me as being quite a bit more dangerous than Eithahawn."

"When his King is outside of the Halls, the power he wields is the power of a King. And when he is inside of them, he is as a Prince. Only Legolas could outrank him, and that only because he was born of the union of King and Queen. He could easily have banished me. It would have gone that way, I believe, but that the Elfking put Eithahawn in my charge often after he figured out I was a spy out of Rivendell – Lord Elrond's." Dorondir's head dropped and he couldn't find words for a moment. He finished. "My thanks for your concern."

He was a Noldor, she bet, just like Lindir was. "Well, if he banished you, with hope you would have come back to the King, and I'd have asked you to join my troop. You're a good warrior, strong, and tireless. We don't have to live here, Dorondir, and I don't forget my friends, particularly not when they've been laid low."

The elf exhaled, "He needs you. You know of whom I speak."

"And, at that point, you would have needed me more. Trust me, the Elfking is capable of making decisions quickly to get what he wants and needs." She pushed on the long fabric that tried to tangle up her lengthy steps. Elves glided. It was humans who stomped around. This was no worry for them.

He inhaled and glanced over her. "You look beautiful. I am curious. Why would you want to change out of such lovely clothes?"

She exhaled, "Because my brothers and my troop have never seen me in a dress."

There was a long pause before his green eyes slid toward a tall open room to the left. "Then hide, while I fetch your clothes. It would not do for you to be taunted by your brothers."

She scowled at the fact he was trying, very hard, not to laugh on the end of that.

"You do look beautiful." He told her before she stepped into an empty guest room and, seeing as there was no door – this being an elf room – she slogged over to hide behind the wardrobe. Nothing embarrassing about a grown woman doing that.

He was as good as his word, and brought her washed and patched clothes to her, but with new pants of elven make, new underclothes, and a new leather vest as well. She dressed quickly, and kept her leather boots and the cloak. She needed a couple more pairs of these elf boots made, she decided.

Dorondir smoothed her dress over one arm and nodded at her. "They are straight down the hall, and through the gathering-room, friend-Lusis. You will see them."

Of course she would. There were no doors. But he pointed at her hair as she started by. "You may think to muss your hair. It is so smooth, right now, with such lovely waves."

"Got it," she nodded at Dorondir. "If you see Eithahawn, I'm looking for him."

"Yes, Yellow Istari."

"Burn that." She pointed at the dress.

"No, Yellow Istari." He chuckled and turned from her. "I will bring it to your rooms."

"My what?"

"It is for later. Much later. You may now face your friends and brothers without the shame, and the power, I might note, of this elf dress of yours," he bowed to her.

"You're making me grumpy," she stopped trying to mess up her hair and just bound it up with a cord from her pocket. When she turned to look for him he was in the hall. He walked backward a few steps, his green eyes sparkling in the sunlight, before he vanished up one of the nearby passages.

Lusis hadn't had any downtime since she'd left her former home in the North.

Her first stop was to round up her troop and her wide-eyed brothers. She was determined to show them around this place.

"I thought the elves were leaving the land." Elsenord pointed around at the stream of elves on the walkways overhead. One of whom loped along after a small Silvan elf child running at her top speed.

"No one tells the Elfking what to do…" Lusis grinned and side-hugged her brother. "Except for the elves of Mirkwood. They'll go when they're ready to go. The King makes an effort to get along with the other children of Eru – Men. Us. He doesn't seem inclined to leave us in a lurch, considering his actions saved Long Lake from an invasion of snakes larger than the worm-head you saw him kill."

"That," Remee spread his hands in air, "was amazing. He moved so… slowly. Not what you'd think. He didn't move quickly until the killing stroke."

"The King knows how to kill dragons." Lusis pointed up into the hundred-foot dome of the Halls above and showed them where great white walkways ran wall-to-wall. "Those things that brace the old stone of these hills, you can see them to either end of the great cavern? Those are dragon's ribs. The Kingdom's-seneschal remembers when he came home and they appeared in the earth hereabouts. They're part of a dragon the Elfking brought down."

"There is a Kingdom's-seneschal?" Elsenord turned to walk backwards and found that a young and curious elf glided behind them. He couldn't have been – by his appearance – more than twelve or fourteen, and looked like a girl with a slender body, slightly broadened shoulders, and long chestnut rings of hair, but there he was with daggers, a very real bow, and arrows, and when he saw he had a Ranger's attention, his round cheeks reddened, and he stepped off the side of the bridge. He dropped onto another and shot through the elves there. "What a place. I… I think we had a tail."

Now Steed's brows rose, "Ah, at that age a human can hardly look them in the eye, Elsenord. They're little more than children, and spook easily. I know this."

"Because you are thick with elf-blood?" Redd patted Steed on the head with a hand so large it covered the other man's entire crown. "So much so it will take you years to grow back all that facial hair they had you shave off?"

Steed chuckled and shoved at Redd's hand. He even sounded more like an elf, actually. The more time he spent among them, the more he answered that part of his blood. When Redd let him alone, Steed added. "Because of how elves speak to one another. And I know the story of my great-grandmother, in fact. When she was a child, she refused to speak before the age of ten. Later, she explained she spent the time hearing some of our thoughts and trying, striving very hard, to have the family hear hers. Some are blooded enough to do this. Some are not. But imagine a young elf faced with Men. They can hear nothing from Men – it is our nature. They have spent their young lives surrounded by the thoughts and intentions of elves, as if swimming in a warm pool. And we are dry land. Silent as the grave. We're frightening. And, as with my kin, it takes time for them to build trust."

"Ah. Poor child," Elsenord said. "It was not my intention to scare her."

"Him." Steed corrected and noted, "I imagine that the King had the same difficulty as a youth. The Tatharion say 'If you do not underestimate a child, there will be fewer surprises later'."

"Here's my saying: Slow down," Icar muttered from the back of the line. "Hard to walk and draw. Yes."

"You are doing well, friend-Icar," Amathon said from over the Ranger's shoulder.

Icar jolted, half turned, and elbowed the big Elite. Amathon smothered a smile and tapped the book deftly. "Keep going, friend-Icar, or why do you think I was quiet back here?"

It didn't take much prompting for Icar to return to drawing. The cross-breeze lifted Amathon's thick, wine-red hair and riffled it in air around him. "Lusis-sell, you are right about the bones bracing the hills. A dragon's bones haunt the slayer. They are never far. All the Halls are shored up so. And, without, there is the head of a very old dragon, long since having fallen into the King's power and been purified. Her skull is closed in earth, and so her great eye-socket is a pool for the King to swim in. Ask him. He may show you, given time."

"And how many are you in census?" Elsenord asked.

Amathon glanced up at the Ranger. "Some things you cannot ask of me, Elsenord Buckmaster."

He cocked his head, "Are… are you not permitted to say?"

"I have only an estimate," the Elite told him, "and I am not permitted to relate it. If you wish to know, that is the business of the King, the Prince, or the Kingdom's-seneschal."

"It's only that… we were told we would be alone in this world and that your kind were abandoning-" Elsenord caught himself and said, "leaving us to our own devices."

A gloriously-dressed elf woman, not two feet behind, pushed her black waves over her bare shoulder and said, "The day is still young, Rangers, and we have but tasted the fruits of this beautiful forest – our world, long fought for – this Age. There is no hurry."

"Nimpeth?" Lusis glanced over the woman in an attitude of disbelief. The Elite looked so soft and lovely in her pale lilac dress. Her blue eyes glittered as she smiled at Lusis.

"Are you going to see father?" the elf asked.

"Yes. He wasn't in the," she glanced up at the levels where she'd come awake, "the same place where I recovered. The, uh, nestasad. Where is he?"

She wove through the men and stood with Lusis. "Are you trying to learn Sindarin? All Elites must learn the King's language. I should not be surprised, given you guard him as we do. If you want, I will help you."

"Ai. Teach her Silvan. The King knows it as well." Amathon pushed his wine-dark hair over his shoulder. "It's from Nandorian, and easier than learning Sindarin. Such a language is fine if you're born to it and your parents are whispering it in your head for years, but it is complex to speak."

"Any of us can teach you Silvan. You only need ask." she pointed out and waved Lusis and her Rangers along with her. "We'll take you to adar, but we must hurry. There are festivities to see to."

"Some kind of festival?" Remee asked excitedly.

"I suppose so," Lusis could only agree. If she looked down she could see carts of flowers coming in from the grounds-keepers. The people of the Halls were clearly happy, and she could definitely live with that. In fact, it made her happy too.

Amathon caught up with his wife before them, and she linked her arm around his. It was unprecedented to see their kind being so comfortably warm.

Someone laughed in the buzzing of moving and working people. This was about the only place that elf laughter, and all that it meant, could be heard ringing freely. Beside her, Elsenord gawped. "Was that… one of them?"

"This is their home," Lusis passed through sunbeams and opened her arms. "If you can't laugh in your own home-"

"It's Buckmaster Keep," Aric finished with a growl. "You think the big-guy is okay? I expected him to be around more."

Lusis cocked her head, "The Elfking?"

"I meant Ewon," he sighed and wiped his palms in his leathers, "but… yeah, now that you mention it. He was spent. I imagine that fighting so many dragons takes the pluck out of you."

"The King is fine," she told him. "I saw him earlier with Lord Elrond. He's recovering."

"This way," Nimpeth said and came back to Lusis' side. She motioned up at thick domes of glass beside which they were about to pass. This glass was multicolored and many feet deep. Easily as deep as Redd was tall. It had been included when it had been made, with the colored images of white, roan, and grey horses with riders in cloaks of many sheer colours. Some few rode tall white elk just as King Thranduil now did. "The glass you're seeing in this section came from Doriath. You'd be surprised how much has been salvaged from those ruins by Sinda who yet reside here, and, of course, through the strength and wisdom of Silvan elves. We have eight or nine breeds of flowers from those shores, and almost a dozen fruits. We rescued seeds and cuttings from the sea."

"It's beautiful," Lusis marveled at it, not sure how they'd managed to make the coloured glass stay in its intended shape.

"Doriath was full of marvels." Nimpeth nodded. "We are all taught that."

Remee asked her, "Fair-elf, were you there?"

"Not me. Not any of mine. I am Silvan through to the end of our line. Amathon's family has four Sindar in it… so far. Tall thing." She glanced up at him, fondly. "His fifth-emel – fifth-mother – is Sinda. She is one of the curators in the book rooms. She remembered where these glass domes were in Doriath, and was able to help in their recovery. They bring light to the Halls, yes, but more than that to our friends, the Sindar." She led them off the main thoroughfare and onto another winding bridge.

Redd made a peep of disbelief. "There is a book-room here, and no one… told me?"

"I will take you, after, friend-Redd." Amathon tipped forward and acceded. His starlight eyes shut under red-black lashes. He glanced up, "But you must do all you can: breathe deeply, count-backwards, pray to Eru, anything to restrain yourself, Hoard Librarian, for you cannot remove the books from the actual physical enclosure called the Book-Room."

He laughed and opened his arms to Amathon. "Not a problem. You'll hold me back."

"Teams of oxen couldn't hold you back." Amathon dodged him. "Ai! Keep off, giant Ranger."

They wound up walking quite happily with the two Elites giving a short guided tour. Amathon acted as a counterpoint to Nimpeth's glowing revelations about the surroundings. At one point, Nimpeth brought them down a hall full of glass vessels of all kinds, suspended on long, thin tubes, and lit, inside, with wicks. This was the installation of a famed Sinda artist from the second Age, now in the West. There could have been over 1000 of them in a web of white ropes above. Some vessels came from Doriath, some from Rivendell, Lorien, the faraway Grey Havens, and some from settlements whose names had all but passed from memory, and the rest were from the Halls. Up above, in the dark of this section, Nimpeth explained, they came together to mimic one of the Great Arms of Elbereth as it reached across the Western sky. Amathon leaned in to tell the Rangers, "Terribly difficult to clean."

Up ahead, his wife actually laughed.

Ewon was in a bright room by the surface. It was full of elf men and women with the most intricately rendered wooden swords – they were inlaid with stone that glinted in the light, to increase their weight.

The Rangers went in by way of a walk along the wall of the cavern. It broadened to a living rock balcony that overlooked the huge room below. She thought it might be glassed in. But it was a cave, in its own right, that opened to air on the side of the Halls that faced unbroken green. Along the lip of the deck on which she stood, swirled ornate elvish.

"The writing is so beautiful…. What does it say?" Icar sighed aloud. He glanced at Redd, but it was Amathon who answered him.

"It says," his head bowed as if standing before the throne, "I am a weapon of the King."

"It is part of the Oath of Elites," Nimpeth said, and her voice was proud.

Icar crouched to study the words and Redd stood over one. "King. This one is King. I… I know it from the books."

"Well done, Redd," Amathon smiled softly.

Lusis watched the broad, padded floor below, Ewon extended the arm that had been good. He cocked it in air and flattened his hand, just as soon as that had happened, his once injured arm swung up the sword around it, in a block. He sped this move up to frightening speed and ended in a sudden crossing of swords with a red-haired Silvan man who stood before him.

The sparring was terrific and ended when Ewon's sword-hilt spun in his palm to turn the blade, most unexpectedly. He gritted his teeth. Muscles along his torso swelled. He fought the momentum to swing the sword up the arc it had been falling down. "Dol." He said.

The red-haired elf stepped back and bowed to Ewon.

Ewon bowed to him, rose, and said, "Next."

"Hey!" Lusis called from above him.

He looked up and his deadly demeanor changed to one of open delight. "Hello, friend-Lusis. You are three days dreaming. I am glad to see you."

She nodded at him, "Can anyone play?"

Below them, the room-full of elves smiled and invited the Northern Rangers down among them. Word of their worthiness had already passed through the legendary Elite guard.

They spent most of the day sparring with the Elites, learning what they could of elven swordsmanship, and showing some of their tricks, certain of which were pretty extreme. Lusis was the only human warrioress they'd ever had in their training room. Several Elites were eager to fight her, and then they set in exchanging sword skills with her. Somewhere in the mix, they exchanged wood for steel.

Icar sat and drew the practice sessions with elves grouping around to see his progress.

Clouds streamed over the sky, fast in the blue.

Icar and Steed demonstrated some of the best Ranger swordsmanship Lusis could remember of either of them, and this caused great stir among the Elves. Icar stumbled before Steed and Lusis rushed in to protect him, this was common behavior of Rangers. Like wolves took turns chasing goats and musk oxen, when one Ranger was spent, the other came. Behind her, and to her left, Redd took out his massive, cleaver-like sword and stood waiting.

Lusis stepped out just to give them a chance to see the huge man in action. Redd jogged up and swung his four and a half foot blade. The report when it struck elf-steel was terrific. The elf staggered to the left and a cry rose up at once in the room because this was an Elite and many had never seen him knocked to one side. For several minutes, it seemed there was nothing the elf could do but block and retreat from the sheer size and power of the massive Northern Ranger.

Suddenly, the Elite threw sword to sheath and had his fighting knives out in an eye blink. He dodged under Redd's next swing, stepped in, and Redd jolted back, just out of reach of reversed blades. But that had been pure feign. The elf stepped back with him and crossed the knives in scissor-like fashion, far below Redd's throat. He kept the blades low to prevent accident, but the message was clear. Redd stopped moving. The elf panted, "Dol."

All around her, a cry went up. "Ai!"

The darkness was drawing down, and it was chilly before they damped the fires and left the training room. Once they reached the bridges, the Elites shot away from path to path as if they had wings on their feet.

That left the Rangers to find their way back to the guestrooms. They did this through a combined effort. The Halls were expansive. Remee dropped down onto a bed in one of the doorless, fern-patterned guest halls. He covered his face with his hands and came out again, astonished, "Did that just happen? Did… did elves just spar with us?"

"It's true," Elsenord laughed aloud. He paced the central hall all but hugging himself. "Good gods, what would Kirstman make of this? How… how very little he knows and understands about these people."

Lusis set her swords on the bed and looked across the hall at the steaming brass tubs there. She walked over to an empty hall, stepped before the tall brass heater that protruded from the stone ceiling, and started peeling out of her clothes. Brass tubs were built into each spoke of hallway that hosted the guest rooms. They were gravity fed from above, and heated in tall brass kettles like the one that came from the ceiling. "What do you mean, Else?" she called across the hall.

"Many speeches were made before your return, Lusis, about the elves and their infidelity to Men of their own blood." He saw the other Rangers picking tubs to soak in. Steed was already curled up in one, blowing bubbles as he listened, and Elsenord got out of his coat. "But these elves are Northern. No, they aren't the blood we know, but they are good to Men. We can be good to them. Good friends."

"They will leave eventually," Lusis said from across the hall. "They will have no choice. Will you curse them for it then?"

Silence came on the heels of that, broken only by Icar sliding into a pool of hot water with a sigh. Swordplay of the type he'd demonstrated with Steed was hard on the muscles. They'd all had a workout today, and though none had bested the Elites, they were wiser for it.

Remee got up from where he'd collapsed on the bed and set his hands on his thighs. "What you're saying, Lusis, is that we still have time to do this right."

"This…" she looked around her and swallowed unbearable sadness before she could speak again, "This will probably be the last Age for elves in Middle-Earth, boys."

"We have time." Remee stood to say. "We have time to part from them… properly."

Properly? Lusis sank down below the water. She didn't know how one parted from them at all.

The Rangers slept because Lusis did.

They were, primarily, her men, so when they went across the hall and found her wrapped in a mix of towels and blankets, they let her rest, and took rest of their own.

She woke to warm dry clothes, having hung them on the steel cage around the great boiler. She dressed and found Aric taking money from her brothers at cards. "I might have warned you," she smiled at them. The Rangers got to their feet as she approached.

Redd opened his hands, "We should talk about their book-room." His eyes glimmered with excitement as he nodded at her.

"Gods, Redd, I just woke up." She rubbed her face. In her trance-like sleep she'd been soaring over Buckmaster Spur and watching men on horseback gather. "Let me get my bearings."

"There's a lot of noise in the outer halls." Elsenord said eagerly.

"I'm sure there is," she did a headcount and frowned. "Where's Steed?"

"Well, we sent him to, you know…" Remee opened his hands, "check it out."

Lusis set her hands on her hips and bent over her older brother, "And he listened to you?"

"Well… I'm a Buckmaster, so…."

She gathered her patience. "I hope Icar is asleep on one of the beds back there where I can't see him, and he's not running off and interfering in whatever festivities the elves are having."

"He… he was doing that," Remee used his best and most handsome grin at her – so persuasive. "But he woke up a little before you did… and he didn't want to play cards so…."

Redd nodded in agreement, "What he did want to do was draw."

"Redd," she stared at him. "You sent him up there? We should not interfere with the elves during times like these. They should be free to be… elven without having to worry about humans running around among them. This is less a problem for Steed."

"They probably won't notice him. He's just one little Ranger," Aric said, unhelpfully. "Not like we sent Redd up there."

At the sound of those words, Elsenord stepped back and looked up along the huge Ranger, "Someone might hang a flag off you, friend."

"Why thank you," Redd patted the top of Elsenord's head, genially.

The shadow through the hall was covered in heaps of red satin embroidered with gold thread around the chest and shoulders so that a great collection of leaves appeared to be falling from his red-golden hair. Eithahawn, in the clip of his station, that glowing half-circlet of silver leaves and gems. He glided up the steps to her and glanced over the Rangers with an incline of his head.

He stopped before Lusis and exhaled softly. He stood for a long moment, with his robes settling around him, magnificent with his long eyes cast at the floor on his right. Then he said, "Friend-Lusis, you must try to understand-"

"I don't." She told him unequivocally, "And Dorondir already tried that tactic. The one where he explains you made the right decision about his being chained to a wall under Elite guard, afraid he might be jettisoned from his home."

"His home is Rivendell, because he is a spy," said the tall elf. He didn't see the Rangers look from him to Lusis, some of them slack-jawed.

"He is your friend and guardian."

Eithahawn's eyes narrowed a little, "And if he is not capable of choosing my King before his Lord, it may be better for him to return to Rivendell and make ready to cross into the West. There is only so much tearing asunder a heart can take, Lusis."

"Yours or his?"

The tall elf stiffened. He smoothed himself at once, and said to her, "Yellow Istari, it is the King's wish that you join him as soon as is convenient. I trust you know the way to the upper Halls." He inclined his head to her and turned to leave, his great red clothes trailing the floor behind his long steps.

She blinked at him, "Eithahawn?"

He stood and did not look at her. His voice was calm, but chill. "You are not seneschal in these Halls, Lusis Buckmaster. There are those who would have banished him for leaving the King among Orcs. I make decisions for reasons that make sense to elves, and inside the context of the Kingdom, and for the safety of all involved. I don't expect you to understand." He paused, "You should join the Elvenking."

He drew down the hall and vanished.

Lusis exhaled and shook her head. "We're going to get the King."

Aric's eyes were large as he contemplated her words. "And then we should consider hiding for a while. I didn't think that elf could get angry."

"There are strange elves here," she turned to Redd, "old, old elves. Older than the oldest records, I think, Redd. And they're not from Middle Earth… they claim to be… Western. You'll know them when you see them."

"Are they bad news?"

"I don't know yet," she confessed to him, "but this Kingdom has come under pressure in the absence of the King. He came for me." She glanced at her brothers, "He divested himself of crowns and swords, and any sign of his Kingship and came to the North to get me. Things are changing here, and… the Elfking is beginning to move his pieces around the board."

"Is that what you are?" Elsenord asked darkly.

"Relax," she said around the thumbnail she tucked in her teeth as she thought. "That's what you are too. What we all are. In fact, that's how he sees himself. It may be the secret to his success. He's as much cold fire as hot. And he would die for these elves."

Aric dropped his cards and abandoned the little table they'd been playing at. He picked up his sheathed sword and pulled the belts on. "What do you think he's doing?"

She looked at him, and up the hall and then Lusis tore away at a run after Eithahawn. She would not have caught up with him if he hadn't been standing at the front of the Guest Halls, caught in an attitude of indecision.

"Eithahawn," she skidded on the polished floor and came to a stop beside him. "We should be friends, you and I. We shouldn't fight. I do enough of that with your father."

He turned his downcast head in her direction without looking at her. "In the past eight weeks, he has let it be known that he summons Legolas back to the Kingdom. He has moved Arasell Mundiel to Head of All Sections, and Merilin Ewonion to Warrior-seneschal, who is second only to me. He has made a special detachment within the Elite guard – the Aglareb – and he no longer wears the crowns outside of service to the Kingdom." He turned to look at her now. "Has he told you anything?"

"You don't know?" She asked.

Eithahawn's teeth flashed as he paced. "He's in and out – away finding you – off with the Council of the West doing business, and no one ever knows the full extent of what he's doing! If we did there might be some threat that we might undo it."

"What does it look like?" she asked him. She could hear her troop rolling up behind her. "What does it look like to you?"

"Like he's getting ready to go with them."

Lusis agreed with this assessment. "Which means there's a very good chance he's doing nothing of the sort. We need to relax and not get paranoid." She pointed at him, a very human gesture. "And not chain our friends and allies to walls."

"I couldn't let Elrond's spy undermine my father's authority in this Kingdom in front of the Council of the West, no matter that we have been friends for years." Eithahawn paced tightly, his long arms wrapped across his chest. "The value of my King is too great for that."

"And he told you that he left at the King's order."

Eithahawn turned slowly and looked at her.

Lusis brows went up. "No?"

"Yes... in fact. Dorondir would have proposed that the King take the Lord. And your Rangers arrived with horses of Rivendell. Along with the King, they carried you here."

Lusis' tanned lids fluttered. Carried. She was a grown woman and a Ranger. It was mortifying. But there went Eithahawn, in his very inhuman way, utterly ignorant of this, and immune to her distress. She couldn't tell if he – like many Men would – expected a woman to be feeble, or if he simply assumed that everyone, at one time or other, succumbed. With so many women scouts, guards, and elites among the elves, the latter was likely. And, not being feeble, she feared the former.

The grand, golden elf remained unaware of her unspoken question.

"If he'd carried the Lord … he would have been accompanied by way of that choice."

Redd shook his head, "He… he wasn't doing as well as you think, lad. Still, with the horses we had… yes it could easily have been done that way. It is strange he didn't come to that conclusion."

Eithahawn's long, orange-blond hair slid over his shoulder as he looked at the night sky overhead, the guest rooms being close to the surface and capped in several places with thick glass. The windswept moon painted a long splash of blue onto the tiles, just as it probably had for nearly all generations of Men. The light made the Kingdom's-seneschal's aqua-blue eyes seemed cyan. Their dark pupils shrank from round to slightly oblong in the moonlight, and silence was observed before Eithahawn decided, "He didn't want to be here."

He turned and headed down the hall, the peridot in his clip glittering against hair his hands reached up and stroked into three thick strands right behind his ear. He absently drew a loose braid of them, paused, and threw the glance that invited her to follow from over his shoulder.

"That's all of us, troop," Lusis exhaled through her teeth. "The King's been stalling for time. You can bet that's not because he doesn't like the company."

"And just when we were getting flattered by the fact he came to get you in person," Remee chuckled. "I could scarcely believe he was a King. Even after we arrived."

"Yes, in fact. He did go to retrieve friend-Lusis in person. Do not mistake his purpose…. Purposes. Aside from which, you have clearly never seen my King's impatience," The Kingdom's-seneschal sighed softly on the end of that, "or you would never have mistaken him for a normal elf."

They followed through the pattern of staggered blue lights – the moon-glow through glass inclusions in the cavern above – as it fell on the living-stone floors.

He led them out of the shallow area of the guest halls, and deeper into the rising stone, and as they went the halls became more crowded with elves on their way to the resounding space known as the Grand Gallery.

The Gallery was a massive stretch of hollowed stone at the highest point of the Halls. The cavern was, in the day, golden with glowing stone and sunlight; green with the nut trees that reached up from the cavern's broad, sunny patches; fragrant with the bumble of flowering vines and strawberry runners that draped them from above. It was colossal. There were many small stone bridges for strolling upon, which crossed a pair of chattering rivers through the uneven floor. Under the moon, velvety moss looked like glimmering woolen cozies on the stones that sat in perpetual darkness, softly luminescent. The underground rivers were crystal clear, and ran deep, in places, from springs within the mountain. The Rangers and Kingdom's-seneschal had come in by a path usually used by the King. This afforded them the luxury of space and relative privacy, because there was a large round room connected to the upstairs King's Sanctuary, called an Aerie – a room off the throne hall to which she'd never been – which was closed in except for one door, now under Elite guard.

Eithahawn paced the round confines of this room and looked up the curving wood stairs toward the King's Sanctuary. He expected that his King, the man who so frustrated him, and whom he loved like a father, would possibly emerge from there.

Like the rest of the Rangers, Lusis looked around the room. Its roof was a filigree steel and crystal that the moon flooded with nearly effervescent light.

Beyond the door, a natural outcropping stood. On it a dais had been carved and planed into glass-like flatness. It was used by officials when they came to view this natural marvel, possibly from the throne hall, which was upstairs from here, but very near. The Istari marveled as she stared out of the stone door at it. If only the petitioners upstairs could lay eyes on this wonder. Predictably, this being an elven gathering, there were no chairs to be seen. There was a lustrous wedge of crystal near the front of the dais nearly six feet tall. The moon had turned it into a blue and white fire. A book sat open upon it.

That mass of quartz was astounding. When she stepped outside the door, the Elite there moved his chin down, fractionally. In this case, it was assent. She was allowed. But Lusis hardly cared. She felt drawn to the light of that great mass of crystal like the head of a flower, and in it, she thought… she could hear centuries. She stared at its light. Whispers echoed in her mind. As she stared, so rose the sound of them. Elvish ran from her thoughts and into her ears – many elves speaking many elven tongues. She thought she heard the still, deep, supremacy of one elf melt away into the rumbling roar of Thranduil calling his people to war. A woman's voice rose from it in high, sweet threnody, nearly as clear to her as if the elf had stepped onto the dais beside her.

Lusis shook herself and stepped away, cold. It had frightened her in the part of her mind comfortable with pain, blisters, running all day, sleeping on the ground, and hunting for her supper in a brook. The practical humanity in her that could neither see nor hear time. Just now.

She backed up a few steps and looked down from the edge of the platform on which she stood, her eyes largely unseeing. Except that there was a deep pool below, now blue in the moonlight. A small troop of red-gold mottled fish bobbed in that deep stretch. The elves threw bits of nut-bread to them. She glanced up at the cavern again, and the world rushed in. The sound of elves was a dull roar. Among people who were, naturally, quiet. It reached into her consciousness: a lot of elves gathering. More than she'd ever seen. More than her Keep. More than the Town. More than a city. Her breathing quickened to the point of suffocation. Gods. How many lives was he responsible for? Yet they kept arriving.

She was still standing on the edge of the stage, frozen to one side of the large door, when the Elfking descended the stair. He came down from the Sanctuary clad in unblemished white, threaded with whorls of seed-crystal snow. His hoarfrost cloak shone behind him. The red foliage and berries of his living-crown were his only deep colour. He was a portrait in red and white, painfully beautiful. Lusis could see only the pillar of star-fire for an airless moment; her brothers fell back as he crossed the room and drifted toward the dais. He paused so that Eithahawn could step forward and, in full view from the broad doorway, bow so that one knee touched the floor. The Kingdom's-seneschal rose, effortlessly.

When he passed her, she smelled snow and red berries and the slumber of life. Winter.

The elves beyond her gave a great thunderclap of welcome. They broke apart into booming chants of elven that built up to a tidal ambiance of sound that shook the crystal at the head of the dais. She felt Eithahawn pass through the door to flank the Elfking – far back, and on his right. The King had come to the middle of the long stone platform and had stopped there, buffeted, she imagined, as she was nearly pressed flat to the wall by the most beauteous sound.

And yet, for all of that, they submerged into ringing echo as one.

The echoes died. It was possible to hear her own heartbeat.

The King breathed, "Le suilannad."

The elves, by number, drowned the room in the response. "Suilannad Taur."

His voice came direct on the heels of the last echo. "And welcome to our new friends from the West." He turned in the glow of the crystal, his profile flooded with light, his eyelashes white, as he shut his eyes and bowed to the balcony on his left. Lusis saw Eithahawn also turn and bow, and when he straightened, his blue-green eyes darted to her briefly. His face was more set and cold than it was doll-like. The Elfking's expression could best be described as beautiful and closed. He had straightened slowly, and in time with Eithahawn. That, she'd learned by now, was the true measure of elven respect.

The cavern was utterly silent. The King glided slowly left, "I have been abroad on tour of the holdings of late. I have been to the Southern Brown Lands, and as far as the Northern Mountains in our forest this autumn." There were several heartbeats before he said to them. "The forest is vast. The forest is… healing. This Age. Men are rising, but these Men do no harm to the Greenwood. Their wish very much appears to be as ours is – to live within the arms of this marvel, or at least as close by it as they are comfortable. I have, of late, travelled with Northern Rangers in our number. I have learned what is comfortable about a forest for an elf, is not necessarily ideal for Men. In this I find hope. Our demands of the living canopy will be different. Complementary. I work toward this goal. This is the forest of forests. It can protect many. It can support many. And so we protect and support it. I have seen its increase. Fingers of green climbing the foothills far North of us, and sweeping aside the dust and mold of the Brown Lands far South. The forest is returning to places once cut clear, once poisoned, once claimed by the Enemy. The great lungs of them breathe life into the lands."

The crowd made no whisper while the King spoke. Lusis put a hand over her heart to hush it, and watched his tall, white figure from behind, as his head tipped gently forward and down to the right. Affection. Affection for them that he couldn't quite contain.

"I must, this Lasbelin – this Autumn – remind you that our work is not yet done in this land… in this world."

Eithahawn's head turned a fraction toward the left. Lusis edged out to see Loss, Glir, and Osp standing at the balcony closest the dais. Among the Silvan elves they were taller, and they were clearly not of that bloodline. She watched Loss' chin rise as if in response to the King's words. His head turned minutely, and his eyes looked toward Glir without her seeing. No one seemed to notice that Osp, the Noldorian with copper eyes, was immersed.

The King moved. Slight tip toward the right and his head turned. She knew his blue-silver eyes were hidden under low lids. "There is much darkness still. Great, dark mouths seeking the shelter of our Greenwood. Swarms of blood-hungry bats... of late. Slaughters of Orcs abroad. There is unrest among Men. And I have slain dragons."

Now some of the elves reacted. She could hear them inhale. They were stunned.

His voice was suddenly crisp with temper, "I have burned with the scourge of dragon's blood, confined in red halls close to undoing. That atrocity of the North rears, again, and our green stronghold lays at its feet. Our work is not done here. Our work is not done."

Lusis checked Eithahawn's blue-green gaze. It was ignored by those he'd fixed it upon: the Council of the West. Glir's lips moved in the exhalation of a word. Loss' brows rose. Osp leaned slightly to the right and listened. Lusis saw light between him and the others, even if they didn't notice it.

The Elfking walked toward the front of the stage. "The Fourth Age is like all others – not to be feared, but to be faced. It will be navigated like a passage of river. We will know it well. We will love it well. We will change, gracefully, inside its rhythm. I have summoned to these Halls, my own, Legolas Thranduilion, and I bring before you Eithahawn Auronion." He set a pale hand on the book beside him. "Into the pages of record I have recognized my foster, as is… long overdue."

Eithahawn's eyes snapped forward. He stiffened, wide-eyed, for a moment and then bowed toward his King's long back, unable to contain the surge of revelation. Lusis felt for him then, so publically tumbled by such private emotions. He seemed stranded, just feet away from her.

The King's hand turned a page in the book before him. He took up the reed of pen from the small tray beside it, and dipped the tip in crimson ink. Elves rose. They pushed forward in a scramble and she had a sense something terribly momentous was happening to them. The Elfking first lovingly touched the page before him. Then he wrote in the book. A soft burble, like a hum, had started.

He set the pen aside. She could hear the wood clink on the silver, it was so still in the cavern. "My final words to you, before the Autumn Festival begins," there was a stir in the crowd again, "are simple. You are my elves. You are my own." He turned his head graciously left, but his eyes were downcast. He wasn't looking at the Council of the West. Quite. "Now I must secure a future for you."

Heartfelt elves stared at him. He looked only at the stone.

The Elfking's hand pressed to his chest, protectively. "I offer to you my blood, and my life, joined together in succession. My sons. Co-rulers of the Great Greenwood. A son to each. One to suffer the thorns of the Warrior's Circlet, and the other to bear the weight of the Living Crown."

The hum burst into a roar of chants that became all but earsplitting.

"The forest is wide. The forest is healing." He breezed past Lusis, "And so are we."

Inside the circular room, several of his Elite lined the far wall. They bowed as one. Ewon arrived by the wide door. He was in the most formal gear that Lusis had ever seen of him – the hem of the elven coat he wore touched the floor, and it was a beautiful deep brown shot through with red and gold thread. Amathon and Nimpeth followed him in, but were clearly on duty. "My Lord, all is ready for you."

"Thank you, Ewon." He pivoted toward the sudden approach of Remee Buckmaster. It had distracted him. He laid a hand on the white hilt of Lossivor, his sword.

"We are sorry," Remee edged under the King's notice and nodded at the wintery vision before him. "We… we are deeply ashamed of our brother, and of ourselves."

Elsenord joined him, "We didn't know who you were, Great Elf. We doubted any King would attempt the mountain and venture into Buckmaster Keep. It has been long since that fine old hall saw as much as Strider, he who, it is rumoured, is Elessar of Gondor-"

"That is no rumour. Elessar is King, and has spirited Arwen Elrondiel from her father – very good for his continued health, I am sure," said the Elfking in a low, lingering voice. He was distracted and spoke in Sindarin cadence and with heavier accent when he was thinking in Elvish. His chin rose, "Aside from which, I wintered near the summits of Bregolnag hunting dragons when the Men thereabouts were but learning to build fires. Buckmaster Keep was, at least, more comfortable than that. Unfortunately," he glanced at them and added a sharp, "that is not saying much." He hadn't forgotten what had befallen him and his Elites there, or how Lusis had been defamed. He turned away to a scroll that his Court Scribe held before him. He scanned it and took the pen she handed to him. He passed all back again, "Not yet. Add lines and bring it back. You must make mention that the Kingdom's friends, the Northern Rangers of Lusis, some of them Buckmasters who still count elves as friends, and our good and wise ally, the Yellow Istari, were all present for this."

She bowed and took the scroll and pen away.

A second elf brought him a list that he glanced over quickly. "Ma. You are done. Deliver it downstairs, go and celebrate with your wife and daughter."

"Hail to my King," The young elf bowed and hurried away.

The King waved away an offer of red wine and gestured at the long, spotless white clothes he wore. It was then that he glanced over the Buckmasters once more. The two brothers were in earnest.

At his right the latter of the two men, Remee Buckmaster, bowed to Ewon. "We offer our deepest apologies, Lord Elf-"

"Oh my," Ewon's dark head tipped left in amusement. He glanced at Nimpeth. "Lord, now."

"-you were sorely injured by our weapons. You might have died. We are at fault." He hung his head in shame. Behind her father's back, Nimpeth's chin dropped slowly in agreement. As much as she was Lusis' friend, she was furious with the Buckmasters as an organization. She loved her father, and was gratified to see an admission of their guilt.

Though he didn't know how to read the subtly, Elsenord joined in, "The debt we owe to you is great, and our swords and shields are in the King's service until such a time as that debt is cleared. He need only tell us what he would have us do, and that will be our command."

"Lusis-sell," the King summoned her forward. "Collect your brothers. Have them enter into your troop more properly, into the service of the Yellow Istari."

She nodded at Elsenord and Remee, "I could hardly ask for two tougher and more battle-seasoned men." She herded them back from the King and said a quiet. "We shouldn't trouble him, now, none of us."

Eithahawn swept in, having officially started the festivities. He brushed through the room with his red robes floating and stopped several feet short of the King. He waited there, mindful of the bustle of Silvan staff. For his part, the Elvenking signed a series of documents. He gave directions in Elvish. He called down the hall for his Clothier – quite a tall woman – whom he talked to in a burst of Sindarin.

In the orbit of the King, this night, all was hectic. But he turned to Eithahawn, once, and then twice. On the third time he took a step toward the Kingdom's-seneschal and said, "The guest halls must remain under watch tonight, but see to the comfort of the Men there. This is the feast of plenty. See that they are given wine and meat – if there are children, sweetbreads, since I recall they approve of such things – and all should be encouraged to relax themselves as there is no line of petition for the next three days." The King signed a smaller document, glanced over it, and handed the pen to Eithahawn. "In case of sudden and unforeseen succession."

The Kingdom's-seneschal, sucked a breath at this. He blinked at the text and paled, "There is one pressing docket before us. The particulars are in your offices – a human girl bound in marriage as a child, seeking to undo the contract?" He took a deep breath and then signed his name under the name of the man who had chosen to raise him.

He glanced over his son, "I do not follow. Tell her to undo it."

"She is not permitted to undo it."

The King stilled, "She may choose to go with him, with another, or no one at all. She is a woman in my Kingdom, not a toy on a string. Tell the families I am responsible for the dissolution." He signed off on the rewrites he'd ordered as he said, "And get a writ into law declaring that agreement from both parties must be freely expressed for a contract of coupling or marriage to be held as legitimate. All else is unlawful. This is something we must do." The formal document declaring co-rule was carried away. That it had been composed on velum, richly illuminated, and written in flawless red-silver calligraphy meant it had been ready for some time. The Elfking answered a question, aside, and then glanced up at his Kingdom's-seneschal, "Eithahawn… are you all right?"

The Kingdom's-seneschal hesitated a moment too long before he replied, "All is well."

The King's head tipped to the right, forward, and he went still. He considered the younger elf.

Eithahawn bowed his head, set a quivering hand on his chest, and swept it out toward the King.

The King was more firm this time, "Are you… all right?"

Eithahawn simply said. "Yes, adar."

"Pity your brother can't keep a schedule… but this will assure him some portion of his freedom, and it gives to you…," the Elfking looked at the large, earnest eyes of the child he'd saved from death, and was suddenly flooded with feeling. He looked down and away.

The Kingdom's-seneschal hadn't moved a whisper. He continued to stare at his long-wished for father, almost in a shocked state. His voice was a whisper. "Of course."

"Get him wine," said the King of his newly acknowledged son and co-heir. A pair of the staff in the room broke away to do just that.

On his way for the door, his step paused and as the Elfking's head rose, he glanced at Lusis.

She nodded at her troop, which had grown by two men, and said, "Let's go. We're with him."

The King swept through halls that bowed as he passed.

He wafted the rowan-berry-winter scent everywhere he went, and they hurried, with him gliding through passages and upstairs until it seemed they were in a maze and Lusis had long ago forgotten all the turns.

"How big is this place?" Remee puffed as he ran up steps behind the King.

"The hills are covered in chambers," Aric looked up and slowed his chase. "Never seen this one before. It's… nice."

"It'd be nicer with a chair," Elsenord grumbled.

"I didn't expect Buckmasters to be so pampered." Aric casually extended a foot to try to trip Steed, which didn't work, though Steed was amused. Instead, he nearly spilled his distracted little brother on the painted floor.

Redd scruffed the brothers and pulled them apart shortly after.

For her part, Lusis ignored them. The night glowed above her head and it was full of stars. She had no idea why they made her feel the way they did, like separated brethren. And then they were in a wide room whose roof was glassed over. There were elves there – Elites – and Thranduil went into a second room with them. He passed out of sight among them, Lusis was content to follow until she saw the long layers of white coat come out, folded over the Clothier's long arms. The elf woman's blond brows went up as she glided past Lusis. "Perhaps a moment? Unless you are intimates, and I overstep, Yellow Istari."

"No," Lusis couldn't fight down the blush. "No, you don't."

Merilin came to glance into the domed room at her. He was braiding his dark brown hair out of his face. "Istari," he gave a head bow.

"Merilin, what's happening?"

"We're leaving for Lake Township."

"Now?"

"Very soon. Your packs are ready for travel." He finished the plait and wove it into a second braid at the back of his head.

"Why are we sneaking out?"

"He will tell you."

She exhaled and turned to Redd, "I very much doubt it."

It was seconds before the Elfking appeared. They were still strapping on his left vambrace when Thranduil came back through the door. He took over the job with a deft hand, "There is work to be done in this land, as you know. Aside from which… they are beginning to ask certain questions, Yellow Istari – the Council of the West. There is no such thing as an omission, or half a truth. They see through any machination we may use to protect ourselves and others. Lord Loss… he can oblige a mind to complete accuracy. Only his love of good keeps him from forcing such matters."

Lusis opened her mouth and shut it again.

"Oh," she couldn't imagine the depth and complexity of the King's secrets, "He needs to stay away from you." she told him.

"One does not tell a Vanyar Lord his business. Not when one is a-" he didn't say the word 'Moriquendi' but he did add, "Elf of the Grey Twilight."

Lusis glanced over the thronging of Elites who laid his cloak on his shoulder and proceeded to lift his fine, long hair into place. Merilin stepped aside for the Clothier, who folded his robes and pushed the King's hands out of his way whenever he tried to interfere. He seemed used to this, as he allowed it without complaint.

He drew in on Lusis as the Clothier pulled the hood of his deep crimson robe up around him, "It is of no true consequence whether they return to the Undying Lands with yet another Sinda soldier, Lusis Buckmaster. I will be another of legions of such – tall, blond, grey-eyed. Sinda tend to be of a type. And to ferry back a soldier who has been called a King? The only value there is that he can serve to show the Moriquendi that they must be meek." He stepped aside as the elf, Merilin, caught hold of the filigree of one of the glass panes above and rolled the glass down into what had appeared to be solid stone.

Elven hands reached to gently touch the King's clothes into arrangement, when they were already impeccable. Lusis understood it. She wanted to be close to him too. To offer his heart, which could no longer bleed for its own despair, some warm spark of comfort.

He gestured at Lusis and the Clothier set a long woolen coat over her shoulders.

"Protect him," breathed the – yes – blonde and grey-eyed Sinda woman. She handed cloaks among them and said a quiet. "Safeguard him." Lusis stared at the beautiful elf as she withdrew. It reminded her that other Sindar, and Noldor like Dorondir, had accepted Thranduil as a King. She gritted her teeth and looked out in the chill drafts of autumn air from above them.

He was a King in many minds. For many reasons.

The King strapped on extra weapons. "Everything I am presents, to them, a challenge. There are better things to collect from among us."

She felt her head rise. Did it have something to do with her? It couldn't have. Though… perhaps the Council held a dim opinion of him. He was a Grey Elf. He had become more than a friend. He was her true North. Likewise, Lusis knew she'd have crossed an ocean if Legolas Thranduilion had sworn it was essential to Silvan survival. She would fight to the bitter end to safeguard Eithahawn. And here she was fleeing the Halls to escape the Council of the West. It should have said everything to him, and maybe it did. When the Elfking shot out into the night through the window, Lusis followed on his heels without question. She didn't believe he was less than worthy.

"And Lord Elrond?" she braced a foot, reached down, and got Elsenord out. They both helped bigger Remee. Rangers worked together as a matter of habit.

"There is still the pressing need to find the enemy in the lands to the East." The King glanced over Lusis' Rangers.

"Redd," Lusis gave up trying to pull him out and exhaled slowly. "I don't know if you're going to fit. Maybe," she set her hands on her hips, "they should push from the other side?"

Redd, this close to the dome window, had his head poking out, he was so tall. So it was not difficult to see him flush and look uncomfortable. His voice was low and pleading. "Don't ask that, Lusis."

The King's head did a quick glide, right to left, though his eyes didn't stray. He exhaled in the chilly air. "Redd Ayesir… I can fit through that window in armour… how can it be you cannot fit through it, at all?"

When Redd gave a helpless shrug, the windows to either side of him bounced. The Elfking gave a sudden and mellifluous huff of humour. He had to walk away to contain himself. He travelled down the sheer granite edge of this stone outcrop above the Halls. He came back again only after distracting himself smoothing his dark crimson cloak – which needed no smoothing – against his long thighs.

"Redd… dear child… it would take days to dismantle the iron frames of those windows, for they were forged in my father's time, against the ingress of dragons. As you cannot fit, you will have to leave by way of the stables. Take pains not to be seen."

"Yes, my King," he gave a little bow through the window, which nearly dissolved the Rangers, and left Lusis looking at her boots.

"See you soon, Redd," she said brightly.

"Yes, Captain." He ducked back in through the thick and heavy glass, which Merilin rolled into place and sealed again. Aric sagged to his brother, his age and occupation wiped away by the sudden blast of laughter.

"Shush, you witless child," Lusis grinned as Remee clapped a hand over his mouth and tried not to find this hysterical. Elsenord was trying to walk it off.

Maybe the brisk night air could cool their humour? It smelled of winter cold, and the distinctive sparking that the air made on skin when snow was close. They were higher up in the old mountain orogeny than Lusis had expected. It was uncomfortably cold. She looked left, to where the King had been, and saw his cloak billowing away from his long legs. He glanced back at her, went to the edge of the windy escarpment, and simply stepped off. He fell out of sight at once.

She tore away from Remee, who had been leaning on her shoulder, so fast that he nearly toppled over. She ran to the edge of the outcropping and braked. The King was fine. In her heart, she knew he would be, but… she'd seen him insensate with dragon's blood a handful of nights ago. She could be forgiven for worrying, probably more easily than she could be for wanting to aim a smack at the back of his inconsiderate head, dropping out of sight that way.

He paused where he was heading down a set of steps carved deep in the rock face. The stair was covered along its stretch by the granite of the eroded mountain, and so he was sheltered from view. Lusis hopped down to the stone landing and followed him.

They emerged through an iron gate and walked out of the fissure via a not so accidental rock-cairn. Lusis admired the ingenuity involved in this trickery. She'd been out on the land many times in this stone, and even scaled and crossed over these hills to keep her climbing sharp. She hadn't realized this passage was here. The Rangers made it into the woods below in under twenty minutes. It would have taken much longer – she knew from experience – without the hidden stair.

The troop and King went South and deeper into the woods, and not along the Forest River, in fact. That was how they encountered Redd. He had come from the stone stables built where part of the great rock that housed the elves had formed an outcropping that was not flush with the ground. The stone was now braced on pillars. Lusis could hear horses whickering from within.

Redd was standing beside the rock face, his hood up to cover his namesake hair, and his earnest dark eyes scanning the wood. She saw him, gave the nearby branch a shake, and his eyes found the motion. After it had stilled she stepped just into sight of him. He made an indirect path to join them. "Why is this so clandestine? Do we believe they have spies everywhere in a world as close as this?"

"Every mind is a spy if you can force its secrets like forcing a lock," Lusis looked at the gathering clouds that began to cluster around the moon, and told him. "It may be that we are his only guards tonight, though, almost certainly, Merilin is making himself scarce."

"He'll be leading his section to relieve Arasell's in Lake Township within the hour," the King said quietly. "She arrives from along the river, without knowing we are abroad." He led them onward. "Other incidental members of my staff know well enough to stay clear of them."

"Will they interfere with us?" Lusis fell in at the King's broad shoulder as they passed more even ground. "We are fighting an evil in the land."

"They have no interest in this land but our removal from it, Lusis." He paused, mid-step, at a soft woodland noise, but then turned, his blue-silver eyes gliding across to the open green, and down, before he kept going. "Essentially, they are from the West and they have never been here, except to wake in all their glory, under the stars, and to leave. Do you believe that breeds a desire for involvement?"

She was too surprised to simply accept this news. "But this force is attacking the elves."

He inhaled deeply. "The problems of this land, Lusis, are the problems of Men. We make them our own only by disobedience to the Three Kindred." And he was mindful of the Buckmaster Rangers behind him. "In your Keep, I did hear protests made by the people of the North against the elves, your brother, Kirstman Buckmaster, spoke them. It is felt that we abandon the humans in a world where much chaos foments, and Gondor is far in the South."

"I didn't realize," she admitted to him. "I was too wrapped in my own misery." She still couldn't recall the featureless days directly following the death of her father.

"Understandably." His silver-blond hair billowed against her shoulder as he ducked under tree limbs too high to give her worry. The King murmured, "But we are all Erusen of the North, both the elves of Mirkwood and the Men of Northern expanses. Our wide spaces and icy reaches are burdened by the hordes fleeing Mordor, those that find strength in the worm-heads of the cold regions, and those who crave the bottomless gold of Erebor for their funding. Evil is a business among them. The industry of it is their unifier. The man now leading your Keep does not appreciate that we of Mirkwood are no less abandoned by the emptying of Rivendell and Lorien than they are."

She noted, "Because even before I arrived, the Buckmasters thought you were all leaving. I failed to recognize this sentiment. I was-"

"In mourning," he stopped beside her and the great aura that he now occupied, shifted weight. "Your father died, Lusis-sell. That is a time when there is nothing else that one can see. The world is as invisible as air. Aside from this… my people have known no peace in their own land, this beautiful place so full of woe, for several Ages. They are unready to leave. And they have won this forest in blood. I will not allow them to be forced."

Redd glanced up at the first pecks of rain to make it through the heavy branches above. "Elvenking, you say the elves of the West gain little by you. But… I cannot believe that. Tonight, your own words to your elven people held clues. It seems that you prepare for succession in the Halls… in case they take you. So will you allow them to force you to leave?" He stepped over a downed tree whose rotted bark the King had adroitly darted onto, and by. Everyone else in their number picked up their pace to circumnavigate the deadfall. On the other side of the deer-path, the King waited.

He stopped along a stretch of trees made blue-green by the full moon, and he turned so that the wide, dark ovals of his pupils beheld Lusis from nearby. "It is you they want. I am just your vehicle." His head bent slowly, and his great eyes closed. "It has been asked. They do not believe we can be separated."

Heat flashed over Lusis so that even her shoulders and arms felt warm. Her fingers tingled with shame that her constancy had somehow done this to him.

She felt cold inside, and the unease of it lasted for the remainder of the night.

They jogged through most of the night and next day. It was well into dark the day after, when they made their way to a clutch of elven houses, built amid truly massive trees. They stood suspended on elf steel brackets from the great red trunks. Wooden stairs led to the forest floor. The King looked suddenly less abstracted and more pleased. He took three steps into the relative clearing at the frosted feet of such giants, and the white elk loped out of ferns and stopped before him. Thranduil extended a pale hand and the elk put its muzzle under it.

An elf came out of the trees. An Elite. She bowed to the King and indicated the house. "There is a Patrol of elves in the trees around us, my King, and the Lord is resting."

The Elvenking didn't miss a beat, "As we have need of rest."

She told him, "It shall be done."

Elrond was in the larger of the several buildings. Inside, there was a circular central fire, and a cooking fire along the back wall. Lusis came through the front door, bleary and sore, and saw three more Elites bustling inside. One of them lifted a hatch in the floor, walked down, and returned with an armful of dried wood from there. They'd built in a storage room underneath the suspended building. Another carried mulled wine from the fire to set beside a stack of flat breads that steamed in the gust from the door. The Lord sat covered in a blanket, happily spreading a mix of nut butter and diced candied cherry onto bread. He glanced to the left and saw Thranduil.

"Your Men are exhausted, Elvenking."

Then Thranduil paused and looked at the Lord before him. "Have I done you some wrong?"

Elrond laid down the knife, his deep grey eyes widened curiously, and he very nearly looked innocent. He puzzled this reaction out and concluded, "Perhaps… I should call you friend."

The great white-golden elf turned away, "Perhaps you should."

Lusis got her exhausted troop inside. "Is there water, good Elf?" she asked the nearby Elite, and the woman gestured at a pot near the back of the room. Lusis considered it and then the long row of rounded beds along the walls. They ran from the ground floor along rows of pillars, to about six feet from the peaked roof. The place was designed to sleep two sections with ample room on the floors. In spite of that, the building was not terribly large. Lusis exhaled. "Do not let the King or Lord from this room without us. We need water. And sleep." Water, they hadn't had in over an hour, sleep they hadn't had in a day and a half.

At the end of the room, she drew up water for her tired men. She brought some to where Remee had already fallen on an oval cot, asleep. Waking up dehydrated was hard on the body. She let her troop lie along the wall. Icar was already sound asleep as she passed him.

When she reached him, the King stood beside Elrond. He was speaking, "And you're well."

She scanned the reddish-blue flame inside of the Lord and decided he was better off than when it had been low and violet. She would feel better when it was back to its normal tall arch of ruddy gold. He was unusual among elves. Or his fire was.

The Lord Elrond sipped his mulled wine. "Yes. I do feel I slowly recover. Perhaps this spell cannot do harm over the long term…. Is this what it feels like, I wonder, to fall ill as a human does?" He glanced over the elf before him and said, "It is rare… to see you in such extremity, Thranduil. What news have you?"

"You were on your way here and did not observe this. I have declared Eithahawn Auronion and Legolas, should he ever appear to sign his lovely name, to be co-rulers at succession, as of the opening of this Lasbelin festival."

The Lord Elrond fumbled his buttering knife. His great eyes peered up. "You did what?"

The Elfking's chin rose, "This sentiment is hardly a secret."

"He is not your son." Elrond pointed out. "His father was your squire and carried armour for-"

"He is my son."

There was a long silence during which these two men stared at one another.

"Legolas will not agree to it," Elrond exhaled and motioned at the King. "Though it is reassuring to see that it is not solely for the rest of us that you make trouble, Thranduil."

"Legolas will agree to it," said the King. "You do not know his love of family." Elrond began to inhale to speak, but the King quickly added, "Of which Eithahawn has always been one."

Elrond leaned back in his seat and accepted this. "Very well."

"The festival will run for three days," said the Elvenking. "It is a time of great distraction, and our best cover. However, we shall be missed before it ends. We cannot rest here long. It is known by my Elites, and Lord Loss will easily be able to find that out."

Lusis felt herself scowl. When you were a Ranger, there was never enough sleep. "How long do we have here to rest?"

"Four to six hours," said the Elfking softly, "At most." He pushed back the screen of limpid silvery blond that fell across his bowed face.

Now Lusis sipped the water she'd carried with her. "You need to rest too, my King." She had no idea how they were going to bring Elrond along, but she was determined he would travel well, and remain healthy, even if the Rangers had to carry him on a litter. Though she suspected the method was much more likely to involve the white stag.

The Elfking's chin sank down in agreement. He was too worn by these last weeks to even bother with comment. Within minutes, the Elfking was out of his armour and curled on one of the pallet-like oval beds. Lusis, having judged that the stout door was more of a risk than the thick and enclosed walls and ceilings of the rest of this space, lay out on the bed beside him, but closer to the door. She didn't know a thing about the outside world before she became aware again, five hours later. Her head had been full of whispers.

Elsenord was ladling out water to her cup. "You feeling okay, sister?"

She sat up slowly. "Weird dreams," she told him and rubbed her eyes. "Whispers and a deep haze to the East. When I close my eyes, I can see it."

"You should get up, little one." Elsenord handed her the cup he'd filled. "Time to get up and be dangerous."

"Is something wrong?"

"I can't guess at that," Elsenord straightened, "The elves have been hurrying around, speaking elf languages. They have no time for explaining to us."

She tossed back her drink and set her boots on the floor. "Where's the King?" Lusis was already across the room, washing her face and hands in one of the several bowls for the purpose. She swept her wetted hair back into a tail and hurried out through the open door and into a downpour. "Tell me he didn't take Lord Elrond out in this."

The King, in full armour, came in from the brief little porch. He shook his colourless hair before he stepped in, pulled it over his shoulder, and wrung it mercilessly. "Come." He looked past Lusis and noted of the other Rangers, "The rain is on time. We must depart."

Lusis was ready, with all her armament strapped to her. She went out on the porch and jolted with surprise. There was a boat below her. Everything that had been forest floor just hours ago, was now flooded with water that had to be close to six or eight feet deep. Glorfindel stood in the boat below her. He extended a pale hand, "Do you need help aboard, Miss-"

She swung out from the newel post of the porch and dropped to the deck of the boat before him. Lusis turned from her crouch to look into the covered section at the back of the golden boat. Elrond sat on a raised bench, wrapped in wool. The little cabin had a brazier supported on an X of gold-coloured chain. She rose up and asked Elrond, "Are you warm enough, my Lord?"

He blinked his deep grey eyes at her. "I am very well," he inclined his head. "Thank you."

Rangers came aboard. Oiled leather bags of supplies where passed to the boat. A moment later, the Elvenking dropped down at the bow. He set one hand on the golden-wood stag's head at the prow, and looked up past its white antlers into the rain. "Glorfindel."

The elf gave a massive heave on the pole he held. Thranduil went to the opposite pole and the boat glided forward through the rising water. They headed away from the Forest River. Lusis had no idea where they were going.

"This is where the river floods in spring and in autumn, before the snow." The King told her as he tweaked the course of the boat. "It freezes solid in winter – beautiful. It has been flooding for many weeks. And so, the Little Forest courses along to the Celduin – the River Running – from this place." He turned from Lusis and the great muscles in his shoulders and arms bulged as he caught the force of the boat's current-ward wandering along the pole he held, and kept them from snagging in a cairn of stones.

It was silent as the King expertly maneuvered the boat around the rocky face of a rise on their immediate right. Glorfindel countered with his work. He kept up the steady pressure that would snag the bow and pull them into the flow of this smaller river. When they cleared the stone rise, the Elfking gave tremendous heaves against the forest floor below them. His wet clothes clung to the definition along his arms.

"Less," Glorfindel said quietly. "Ease up – Elfking – now less." He set into work as the King let up.

The Elvenking had lessened his efforts considerably, slowly, he stopped facilitating any motion whatsoever. He stepped back and let the boat feel the current. His gaze caught Lusis Buckmaster, lurking close by him, and he glanced at her. "Cover up from the rain, Yellow Istari. Take to the benches and warm. This little river is fast-flowing and ephemeral. A tumult. I cannot manage it and you at once."

"I'm nearby if you need help," she told him, and she withdrew under the awning, just past the midsection of the boat, it was warm and hospitable there. Elsenord drew the thin curtain across, and the King and Glorfindel became shadow shapes on oiled fabric. With two braziers at work, it was dry, warm, and hospitable inside.

She glanced at Elrond and found him leaning on the high back of the bench built into the stern. His eyes were nearly shut, but she knew he stared at the book open in his lap. She knew it because she did, by now, recognize the estranged gaze of elven sleep. More and more, she did the same thing herself. Like her strangely bi-coloured hair, she was changing.

Icar nudged her. He picked up her hair and set a blanket over her shoulders. "Try to dry off."

She slumped against the wall of the little cabin and missed it when Remee tucked his own cloak in to pillow her head. He sat down with Icar and Elsenord on the deck. "Let's not be useless, boys," he rubbed an eye. "Let's check the bag, ladle in some water, and get a pot of soup going."

"He's right," Steed had been studying the closest of the braziers. "They… I think they move up and down on the chains. The shape of them makes for a shelf we could try to boil something on."

"Like a tisane," Redd stretched himself and jabbed a thumb at the rainy forward deck. "Anyone ever think they'd sit in the back of a warm boat while a King's manpower got them where they were going to?"

Aric frowned and chucked the knife he'd been sharpening into the bench beside him. "Fires already – fine. I'll cut up some vegetables. Damned elves. The thing they're best at is making a man feel guilty as Doom."

"One of you should help Steed with the braziers before he sets the boat on fire." Icar grinned up at Elsenord, indicated Aric, and mouthed, "Well done."

"I suppose you sort of impel him toward his better nature?" Remee chuckled quietly. "I'll help the part-elf lad. I noticed he's prone to getting into mischief when The Other Awnson is involved." And Remee Buckmaster glanced aside at sour-faced Aric, pillaging his way through a bag of root vegetables.

Lusis was unaware of anything but the pull of the water, the fires of Glorfindel and the King before her, the low burn of Lord Elrond behind her, and her own grape seed of star as it grew in her chest, for the air around them had begun to weigh down with a dark oppression, and her soul flickered back and forth above the Mirkwood ship and employed the Imperishable Flame inside of her, and that of the powerful elves, to push back the darkness that sought to subdue the Lord of Rivendell.

For his part, the Elflord opened his storm-cloud eyes. Something had changed.

For the first time in hours, in the downpour, he felt well.

He was able to breathe freely.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The 'Little Forest', as the Elfking tenderly called the river, let out into a series of broad gullies under rolling hills some leagues from Long Lake. These deep, clear gullies never dried. Several had been connected by elf-made trenches and close to seven boats bobbed here. Their ship, with its deer's head, white antlers, cabin and braziers, was the largest to put to the small jetty that had been constructed along stone boulders. The little river had overflowed the gullies so that they seemed a decently-sized lake now. From the deck, the Rangers marked where the Mirkwood trees thinned, and the river flowed on a downhill slant as it curved through grasslands.

The Elfking and Glorfindel had not rested since they'd boarded the boat. The King had been quite honest when he said the Little Forest was a tempest that needed constant management. It ran incredibly quickly in a charge downhill from the Forest, and any boat on its face required constant management to arrive safely at the chain of gullies. They stood in the sun together, having gone through the entire night and the morning hours locked in a battle with sudden snags, stones, stray fallen trees, and a massive current.

The sun-bright Noldor, Glorfindel, sighed heavily. He pushed his buttercup hair back and pulled it over one shoulder and then sank to the deck with his back against the starboard wall. The Elfking's chest rose and fell under glinting armour. They recovered their air after so long and steady an exertion.

"Something… is amiss in this land," the King told Glorfindel with some certainty.

"The air is thick," Glorfindel said in assent. "I must check the health of my Lord."

"Your Lord is well," Elrond answered from the back, "though worried for the pair of you."

The Elfking glanced to his right and nearly smiled. He saw Lusis coming toward him and contained himself. Instead, he inclined his head to the Istari and she offered him a cup of water. She said, "The long light of the sun is coming to paint your hair red and gold, like your banner, no doubt. Would you like the armour off for five minutes, Elvenking? To catch your-"

A howl sounded not far away.

Glorfindel got up as if on a hinge, the action was so sudden. His sword lashed out. Thranduil held up a hand to stay the man. "Is it simply wolves?"

"One can never tell at a distance."

Growling struck up, and it was closer still.

"We are in a bad position," said the Elvenking.

The bright elf, Glorfindel, moved noiselessly. Eager for fighting.

Behind Lusis, Steed drew back the weight of his bow on a string. Redd had out his sword. She had to turn her head to find her brothers and the Awnsons. They were already ashore and creeping with painful care around the flank of the great boulder there.

Elrond came out onto the deck with a fighting knife in each hand, and looked to the North East, much as the sharp-eared Elvenking did. He stepped onto the jetty and made his way across to a stair cut into stone. Lusis hurried after the King and could hear that Redd came close behind her. It was Steed who kept his original position. This was handy.

When the first of the great shaggy heads appeared at the top of the rock to look down at the Elfking of Mirkwood, Steed put an arrow in its mouth and out through the back of its neck.

The goblin on the animal's tall shoulders smiled, "What have we got here? I knew I smelled a Woody out-"

Steed's next arrow did the same thing for the goblin.

Lusis hurried up the steps, reached her left hand, and caught the Elfking's right. He swung her limber body in air and released her. Lusis shot up along stone and hooked her fingers atop an edge. Her weight hit her arm and tugged muscle and tendon as one. She exhaled, inhaled deeply, and glanced over. She was behind the fallen beast and goblin. She skulked up and peeked over the top of them. She sank back down and extended her hand before her. Four fingers open, then she made a fist.

"What does it mean?" the Lord, Elrond asked quietly. Quite a feat with such a resonant voice.

Steed glanced the Elflord's way. "That there are forty of them." Steed pulled a face. "If this goes badly, I'm going to need more arrows."

"Forty?" Glorfindel's white teeth flashed in clear disgust for the evil beings bleeding on the stone. "That would be enough to keep me entertained. But what will the Elfking do?" His lip curled.

Lusis began to slide back down the stone. It was her intention that they take to the boat and cross the River Running with it. It was a good distance, and put water between them and the wolves. More importantly, that would land their band downwind of the wolves' sharp noses.

About then, the Elvenking stepped right over her and onto the top of the stone. His blond hair spun up around him, carried out like an elf standard on the wind. And he stood staring down at the band of werewolves and goblins, not a half a league away.

Lusis looked up at him and gawped.

At the far side of the stone beside the gullies, Elsenord glanced from the tall and beauteous Elvenking and murmured, "Oh…. Doom's fires."

"Yeah. He likes a fight." Aric Awnson's chin went up. He was, more than anything, proud of that.

Beside him, Remee Buckmaster unfolded the chain and mace from his belt and shook his head at the big, white elf's rashness. "Likes a fight? Gods. He's mad."

"You weren't saying that," Icar's hands moved deftly, "when he was solving Buckmaster Spur's little dragon problem."

Aric chuckled. He checked his brother's position and saw Icar do up the buckle for the pocket that held his art-book. Icar gave Aric a nod of assent and drew his sword. Icar was no less an artist with a weapon than he was with a pencil or a brush. He'd simply been born into the world gifted. He was, Aric swore, the grand culmination of whatever elf blood had remained in the Awnson line. Aric, however, had been born fearless, and that made up for a lot. His sturdy heart didn't even pick up speed when wolves gave long, throaty howls, and the ground rocked with their running. He wanted them to come.

Up on the stone, Lusis turned herself to rights and hissed, "What are you doing?" It sounded like one long word.

His colourless eyes watched the wolves – werewolves really – wolf bodies with the souls of tormented Men shoved into them so that, now, they were misshapen hurricanes of wrath. They foamed and rolled along the plain. The King was unmoved.

"Thranduil," Elrond's flat-edged voice called from below. "They are coming. Was that wise?" The tone, alone, said that it very much was not.

Blue-silver eyes simply watched the trees. The enemies dotted the grasslands, most of them within a quarter of a league below him. Lusis peeked over the top of the dead werewolf and suddenly saw what he was about. "Thranduil!"

The wolves passed into the trees, and, by that, they violated the sovereign space that was the Kingdom of Mirkwood. The Elfking took two long steps and cast himself off the stone and at the werewolf in the lead. He vanished into trees. And that wasn't good for Lusis.

She swung her sword up, stuck a hand on the ribs of the dead wolf, and threw her body over it. Then she charged down the steep face of the stone – which was a lot like saying she controlled her falling by moving her feet rapidly. There came a point where she curled her legs up and fell at a leaping wolf. She kicked out her left leg, quickly, as she closed on the wolf, and threw her body right. She reversed her sword along her side, and when the werewolf went to bite her, she laid its face wide open. Her sword came free. She tucked into a ball under the swing of the goblin, and pushed out from the wolf with her arms like a woman rowing. Her sword came out and closed like a trap. The blade went in between the goblin's ribs and passed straight through.

The ground rushed up at her, boiling with teeth and fur.

Elsenord gave a huge push around the stone, stepped up onto rock for a few strides, and caught her out of air. Momentum brought her to one side of battle. The long goblin spear that clapped against stone had cut through Elsenord's clothes, found his mail, and skidded off to hit rock. The impact had hurt, and her brother gave a painful howl and let her go. He collapsed with the air driven out. Remee charged into the path of oncoming foes and swung the great spiked mace up into the jaw of the goblin trying to take new aim. The blow crushed the goblin's skull.

That left the werewolf free, but Icar leapt over the furred neck of another wolf and neatly sliced the muzzle away before it could bite down on Remee. He picked up the spear dropped by the first goblin to run through a third.

"Cover Elsenord till he recovers!" Lusis howled at her troop. "And fight! Spare none! Swing true or fall!" She stabbed the werewolf coming for her imperfectly in the mouth. They were so fast! The goblin on its back hacked at her. She ducked under the wolf and pulled her sword free by bracing a foot on its chest and pushing. This effectively cut away its jaw and carved a red line through its throat.

The werewolf dropped down and, very suddenly, the goblin had lost the advantage of height. Its eyes widened at the incoming chop from Lusis' sword. But it was Icar's quick darting motion, and his glinting blade, that dispatched it. "Lusis! Right! Low!"

She tumbled to the right, with just a glance at the black shape above her. It snarled and tried to brake fast enough to turn on her. She slammed her elf-steel up under its ribs and it stiffened and dropped down, lifeless. She barely had time to roll away from it. When she did get up, she glanced right at where Aric had stuck his foot on the boot of a goblin. He rode the stirrup up, cut the goblin's throat, and then tossed it to the ground. He turned the great werewolf, dodged a spear aimed at his head, and kicked one werewolf into the broadside of another. He launched back from the dogfight that broke out.

Lusis felt a gust of dog-breath on the right, began to turn. An arrow pinned the werewolf's head to the ground. The surprised goblin bailed from his saddle and crawled to the shelter of the stone, cowering and covering its head. Lusis heard Redd make a terrific growl. He smashed one goblin into another in air and shoved them into the yawning maws of oncoming werewolves. One of which he hammered along the spine and crushed.

He pitched a smaller werewolf up in air like a bag of potatoes.

It came back down, boneless, shot through the eye with one of Steed's arrows.

Redd sucked a deep breath and bellowed. "Who's next!?"

There didn't seem to be as much of a line all of a sudden. Lusis smiled, caught the shaft of a broken spear, and aimed. Now she had the business end acting like a javelin. She'd always been good with javelins. She half turned and launched it into the snout of a werewolf. At the same time, Steed's arrow passed over her bent back and took out the werewolf she could see rushing her flank.

She was looking up when the golden arch of Glorfindel passed over them all. He landed on the head of a wolf, scruffed it by the neck, turned his body around as it fell to all fours, and mid-spin, sliced the goblin in half.

"Thranduil!"

Lusis couldn't see him. She body-checked a fleeing goblin into Redd's and Icar's vicinity – not good for the goblin, she was dead certain – but she was going to be in a terrible mood as long as she couldn't find the King.

"Elvenking, which direction are you?!"

The Lord of Rivendell dropped to the ground beside her. He dusted off his long cloak and sighed at the coming of night. He stopped shoulder-to-shoulder with Lusis and asked, "Have you considered a string? Perhaps belling him, or finding a particularly long…" he patted away a few final specs of rock dust and glanced at the last of the fighting to his left, "…lunge line?"

Now she paused to look at the Lord, "What?"

He smiled, his brows rising on his pale peach forehead, "Merely suggestions of no particular consequence, Yellow Istari. If they were viable, I would, long ago, have listened to my own advice." He pressed a hand to his chest and gave a mild cough. It shocked him. "Ah. What is this?" He looked amazed that he had coughed.

Lusis hurried to his side and pressed her hand over his. But he stepped back. "You have an ingrained habit of mercy, young Istari. I have been assured of the same by your beloved King." He casually bent and pulled an arrow from a fallen werewolf, and then absently checked the fletching – Ranger, but with a single line of red, and a yellow nock. Steed. "The Tatharion boy, Inilfain, he shoots like an elf. And… I'm well enough."

"Well enough to stay here," she told him, "by Steed. The Tatharions are of your bloodline. He will safeguard you." She signaled Steed, since she couldn't see Glorfindel either. He was out of arrows, and raised his sword in answer before he loped in the Lord's direction.

She turned away and searched the trees. Where was he? She started to head downhill. She made it only a very few steps before the goblin who had been cowering pulled a knife and came up to his feet. She saw this out of the periphery of her vision and spun in place to leap back toward the Elflord. But the goblin was much, much closer.

For Lusis, the world slowed. She seemed to be running in thick muck, trying to reach him.

Elrond looked over his shoulder. His head cocked a fraction. He pivoted – and it was here that she saw the utility of that uniquely elven motion, for it quickly turned him in place. The only thing still moving at speed seemed to be the weapons. The knife stabbed for Lord Elrond. The arrow in Lord Elrond's hand spun through his fingers and touched the back of the goblin's hand. It made a painfully red line. The lumbering thing cried out and threw its weight back. Then the goblin knife changed course for the elf's proud head. The arrow whirled to the proper orientation in the Elflord's palm to bite deep into his attacker's wrist. The goblin looked shocked.

Now Elrond's arrow made a final flickering revolution – almost too fast to see – fatally fast. And this time it was upright in the Elflord's palm, like the hands of a clock wound too tight, running at speeds impossible to truly follow. The Elflord caught the arrow as if it were a knife, and drove it deep through the goblin's eye. He took a few steps back.

The goblin fell.

Then Lusis reached the Lord's side.

Elrond's counterattack had been that fast.

He reached a concerned hand to steady her when Lusis screeched to a stop. She caught that hand and pulled him along with her. The Elfking wasn't the only one who needed a leash. "Fine. I said it wrong. You and Steed can protect one another." He was making her feel rather grumpy.

Steed fell in beside her, panting. "Your brothers?"

She felt a cold blast of fear she dismissed. No werewolf could take out her big brothers. "What about them?"

Steed noted, "They're nice fellows. Make good soup."

She smiled tightly because she couldn't help it, "Yes."

"Unless you're a goblin." He exhaled a puff of air. "Then they appear to be possessed by really irritated avenging Ainur."

Well, at one point, her family had taught her everything she knew. And they were Buckmasters. She glanced at Steed. "I don't know what an Ainur is."

Lord Elrond gave her hand, still gripping his, a small squeeze. "Little Istari, I find you funny. In case you ever wanted to know." This time he really was smiling at her – his eyes full of fun and happiness. He looked so very warm and amused. "Let us find your beloved King so that he can explain to you that Istari are thought to be Maiar, and Maiar are thought to be Ainur, and what any of it means."

She wasn't sure she wanted to know. She turned to Lord Elrond and told him. "Stay with Steed. I trust I don't have to make him hold your hand for this to happen."

"Oh how considerate," the Lord bent back from her a little, "But I am not the wayward one. Look to your King."

"I will… when I find him." She turned in the breath of rain that came with the slowly sinking sun. She scanned the trees, fruitlessly, and her troop fell in around her. She had no target, no place to go, until a werewolf made a sharp cry of pain off to her left, and Lusis turned. She saw a glint of white-hot fire through the trees and Lusis knew only one man who burnt with that heat.

"Guard the Lord!" Lusis said as she pounded away from them, running downhill, through stands of trees, to where a second battle broke out.

Glorfindel and the Elfking had engaged with half the group of werewolves, the King fixed with that shatterproof killing-focus of his, which she found so frightful and beautiful to behold, at once. She wasn't getting his attention through that.

Lusis skidded through the leaf-litter as she braked, and was too close to a werewolf. It backhanded her, almost accidentally, as it turned. She felt an amazing flash of pain. The air went out of her. She flew backward into the lashing limbs of a big cone-bearer. The tree limbs did break some of the force of her fall.

She lay on her back, unable to do anything but suck at air she couldn't seem to coax into her lungs. Lusis rolled over on her belly and started to crawl away. Until she could breathe, she couldn't fight. Until she could breathe, she was effectively helpless. The best thing for her was to find a place to hide.

She heard crunching in the brush behind her.

A goblin cackled. "What a pretty rump you have, human girl."

Irritating goblin git. The enemy shouldn't ogle. She was nearly breathless, but managed a gasp, "Do you like my sword?" Stars shot in her head as she began to get air again.

The goblin was a hideous mass of unhealthy greenish-white tissue that swam in her star-shot vision. She could place him better by the stench of animal carcasses and sweat than she could anything else. He leaned over her. The smell increased. "No, I don't like that at all." He swung a kick at her hilt. Lusis sucked as much air as she could and rolled. She didn't have enough air to sit up, so she hauled out a knife and drove it into the goblin's instep. It was what she could reach.

He let out an earsplitting scream, raised his crude blade and brought it high above him in a huge chop. Muscles along Lusis' stomach clenched and she began to curl in around the goblin's boots. She wasn't sure she would make it in time to avoid all of the blow.

The goblin vaulted backward as if kicked by a horse. He'd gone so hard and fast his foot tore up right over the steel knife, guard, hilt, and all. He was just suddenly gone.

Lusis wasn't sure what had happened, but she struggled up and picked up her sword. She staggered back, head spinning, but air reaching her lungs at last.

The creature landed a good twenty feet away, with a splash of bright colour around its head. It was never getting up again. Through the trees, she could still see the Elfking and Glorfindel – they painted air with the blood of werewolves, almost having exhausted their supply. Lusis shook her head and looked over her shoulder.

The great Noldor Kindred, Osp, dropped the tree-like branch he held. His copper eyes were wide with revulsion. "That… is the foulest creature… I have ever seen." He backed up a step and smoothed his long, forest-coloured cloak. It shimmered softly, with the energy inside of it, an incredible match for the trees and grass hereabouts. He almost seemed an illusion while his hood was up. He extended an unsteady hand to Lusis, "Come away…. Let us not look upon… that filthy thing."

She sucked air and gazed at his long, pale fingers and exhaled. She showed him her sword-hand, which was scarred and bloody with this fight, and those small wounds melted away when his hand glided under her palm. He was quivering. "Not used to violence, are you?"

His huge copper eyes were on the Elfking of Mirkwood, whose essence was momentarily misplaced in the hush of his warlord domain. It must have been the only place where he didn't out-think, or second-guess. Inside that bubble of serenity, he was simple. He became a creature of action and reaction – purely physical. It was tied to his earliest fires, his childhood, to the purifying blaze of his warrior's heart. Lusis saw this, too, and noiselessly sighed, because the white star-fire chased his breastplate like the tail of a shooting star. And he was so beautiful.

Osp's hand squeezed hers, but a very little, as if he was afraid he might harm her. "May I use your name? May I speak it?"

She glanced at the distress in his wide copper eyes and said, "Call me Lusis. I'll call you Osp."

He nodded and doubled his hands on hers. "Is the foul thing… all right?"

"Nope." She smiled up at him. "Congratulations. You killed it." She let go of his hands and gave his arm – she assumed his arm was in there – a stout clap. "Well done."

But Osp bent, more listed, forward and left. Lusis hurried to prop him up by the shoulders and could feel that there was no armour beneath his long and amazing cloak. He breathed words in a language she couldn't begin to understand.

"Westron," she told him, "if you want or need help. Westron, good-elf, Osp." She pitied him, but didn't let that into her voice. He'd never killed anyone before, she was sure of it. Lusis had seen many young Rangers in this condition after killing their first orc. She'd managed to kill a Warg when she'd been very young. And when she'd seen its dim light go out, she'd sobbed. It gave her hope for Men that going to war and taking a life, even a life as foul as an orc's, goblin's, or Warg's, hurt. It hurt a lot. That reassured her that killing wasn't as natural to Men as she feared. And it wasn't – she looked at the King as he lit lightly on a stone – as natural to elves. Tempering. Folding. They had to be reshaped in fire and plunged in pure water. Some part of an elf had to be heated molten and then extinguished for that elf to become a warrior. And if she caught these elves looking down on the Silvan and their King, on Lord Elrond and Glorfindel, on the sacrifices of the elves of Middle Earth who had passed through the fires and waters of battle, she would think less of them. Possibly loudly.

Osp mastered himself.

"Haven't you ever killed before?" Lusis couldn't quite wring the pity out of her voice.

"I killed… a bee once." His voice was low with disgrace and she had the idea this was the trauma of killing something speaking in him. "I'd never seen one before, and it was so beautiful that I wanted to keep it with me. I didn't understand it might not survive. I… mortal things… they are delicate. They can… suddenly die. I held it in my hands too long. Time…." He shook his head as if confused and touched the filmy filigree bee clasp at his throat. "I wish it had stung me." He didn't understand why it wouldn't.

In stinging, it would have died. But wasn't that the very crux of revenge?

Instead, it had faded away.

Looking into his face, she could but imagine the love it must have felt for him.

Elves didn't eat meat because, unless pressed by evil, they didn't kill. Lusis felt her head tilt because… this bee might have been one of the first things he saw at the Beginning of All Things. She looked down at his hands, now curled together, and realized death had taught him to be gentle. And the mighty Kindred was like a child now that he'd killed again. No matter how foul the goblin had been. She gathered herself enough to smooth his cloak along his shoulder before she remembered it was bad-manners to simply touch elves. She stood back and looked up at his stricken copper eyes, "I'm no fit judge, Osp. I am just an imperfect soul, and long have I fought and killed the forces of the Enemy. I see no end in that road. There are new enemies abroad in the land, now. And… I'm no bee, but you held my life in your hands just long enough to save it. I hope you can find some peace in that."

Lusis searched herself for blood and injury, but her spinning head seemed to be the extent of it. She glanced across at Osp and sighed. "You shouldn't be here."

His shoulders rose somewhat, and his chin dropped down toward his chest. It had the effect of making his body posture look hollowed. "I followed your man, Redd Ayesir. There was no harm meant in it… just… curiosity."

"I don't believe you." She caught hold of the edge of his cloak, which he held shut around him, and she pulled him in the direction of the pile of werewolf and goblin bodies. "I don't expect the Elvenking will believe it either. And no matter what you think, he is King here."

Osp shied from the bodies and parts littering the land, until there was nowhere to withdraw from them, and then he pulled his head to the right and back into his hood, his eyes all but shut.

The Elfking stood on a cairn of stone, his farseeing eyes golden in the decline of the sun. He stared in the direction of Long Lake. As the sun fell behind rolling hills, the naked eye could make out the fires of Lake Township. Lusis could see them too.

He turned and sank slowly, and it was one pleasing motion that folded his arms up onto his perfectly balanced legs and threw his sun-gilded hair out around him like a halo as he crouched before them. His expression was flat and calm. "Hello, Osp."

The black-haired Noldor Kindred looked at the Sinda before him, shamefaced. "Thranduil."

Lusis gave the elf a small shove and a very hard look. At that moment, surrounded in a circle of fallen goblins and werewolves, she was in no mood to put up with elven hypocrisy. The majority of elves in this land, even elves who had ideological disputes with him, saw that Thranduil Oropherion was a King. The Kindred had just witnessed the same King acting in defense of his Woodland Realm, and having benefited from the King's intervention, Osp of the West wasn't permitted to rewrite reality.

So the Noldor sucked a deep breath. "As… I am here… in the East… should I call him Elvenking, I wonder?" He looked up at the tall Sinda, who was now standing on the stones like a statue cut in silver and painted along its sculpted planes with sun.

Lusis and Glorfindel all but stepped on one another on their way to, "Yes." They looked at one another, briefly.

The Elvenking pivoted and dropped to the ground. "You have been close behind us for days, Osp. I must applaud your restraint. I very much expected you to invade the very cabin we had occupied, rather than to endure the rain."

Osp looked at the ground, and then up again, because the toes of his boots squelched in blood the earth had yet to absorb and purify. He swallowed hard. "I am a lover of wide-open spaces. Neither of Lady Glir nor Lord Loss could have followed you here."

"Which is why they brought you," the Elfking wiped his blade clean in the ragged coat of a werewolf and spoke tartly, "why you're practically a Silvan, the way you've managed the rain and flooding. Fast as a thought, you are, as they are. Except, of course, I suspect my untrained child, Eithahawn, could best you with a sword."

His voice was very faint, "I am an engineer. I am no warrior."

"A what?" Everyone looked in his direction at the unfamiliar word.

"A… a being who studies the mechanisms of the natural world… and works with them to find unconventional solutions to problems. I suppose… an inventor of new things."

"Perhaps… like the Great Doors," Glorfindel pointed out to the Elvenking. "When Lord Elrond wrote that you worked with the Builders and, thereafter, those doors could open and close with flowing water?"

"Oh. Or when you used the white stones," Lusis nodded at the King, "to protect the Kingdom?"

The Elvenking's brows went up. "Whatever he is, he is not my concern. I am content to leave him wandering these woods as he was wont."

Beside Lusis, Osp backed away and ducked his head low, even shook it a little, as he kept his eyes on the King. That was about as strong a No as Lusis had seen from an elf, somewhere between, I refuse, and oh gods no.

"As I've said to you before, Elfking, he isn't wandering. He is following us," Glorfindel said flatly, until his teeth bared, he stepped toward the tall Noldor elf, and shook his red sword, "like a spy."

The elf backed away from Glorfindel, wide-eyed, and glanced across at the King and then Lusis.

"Wandering the Greenwood has served the Silvan well for Ages." The King said coldly to Osp. "As you are new to Middle-Earth, it will be good for you. I suggest you continue to do it. Perhaps South and straight on until you reach Men."

Osp's copper eyes opened wide in dismay. "Please," he took a step forward, his hands curled into fists around his cloak, "do not leave me in this dark corner of the world, so far away from culture and progress." His voice fell away into a trickle of beautifully rolling language that made the Elfking's head slowly go to one side.

Lusis stuck her sword tip in the ground and set her hands on her hips. "He's defenseless."

The Elfking's brows rose.

"To leave him alone in the woods is to leave an elf child alone here."

Osp glanced down at her, frustrated. "Young one, I am immeasurably old-"

"In the West," she told him. "You're ancient in the West. You're a child," Lusis snatched up her sword so quickly he backed away from her, "a baby in this place."

The Elfking turned to Lusis, and, as close to her as he was, the sudden scent of damp pine needles prickled along her senses. It made the knotted bits inside of her relax. His expression was like that of a figurine fired in a kiln and glazed. "If you want him… you may keep him. There is little I deny you, Yellow Istari." His jaw clenched, and then the King's eyes flickered over Osp.

Lusis exhaled and delivered the good news. "He saved my life."

"He…" the Elvenking blinked. Something not terribly common of elves. Try as he might, the King could not imagine a situation wherein someone as endlessly creative in battle as Lusis would need the help of inept warg-fodder like this strange Western elf, and, for an illuminating instant, his expression sharpened to a passion. He was fuming. But that angry flicker of countenance was there and gone before she had time to react. For no elf could tear away his powerful emotions and fold them into swans like the Elvenking.

Instead of irate, he became mild. A superb beauty befell him. His head inclined with supine grace. "Lord Osp, fortunate being, full of the light of the Trees, Eru shines upon you. You may stay by our side, in our protection, and never pass out from our sight but by our leave or command." The Elfking pivoted, his gaze glancing coldly off of Lusis', before he went back in the direction of Lord Elrond, the great elf who slowly descended the hill.

She turned to watch the Elvenking come even with smaller Lord Elrond. As in all things, the King was restrained, but it was obvious to her that he extended a graceful hand in air between them to offer assistance to the Lord. Elrond moved one of the hands closed together on his ribs, minutely, just enough to gesture slightly outward and downward before it returned to his robes. It was a refusal. A rebuff of the most civil sort. The Elfking fell back from the Lord with a nearly invisible incline of his blond head. Long years had not made them friends, exactly. But there was a communion.

Aside from which, the Lord of Rivendell was also a proud elf, and when Glorfindel joined his Lord, his own proffer of help was also denied.

So much living done in solitude.

Lusis turned to Osp and took his rather substantial wrist in her hand. He looked down at her grip upon him.

"Listen to me," she gave his body a tug of emphasis. "You do not understand this place. You do not understand the Men to the North of us, their relationship to the Elvenking, or the desires that powered these dead things at our feet. You do not know what elves are. This is our world. And this world changed them. But that only means they are different."

His chin rose a little. She wasn't sure he was accepting her words, but Lusis released him.

She exhaled and glanced toward the sunset. They had, perhaps, a scant twenty minutes to full darkness. There was still headway to be made. "Stay close to me, Western spy."

His head turned a little to the left and downward in shame, but when she went to join her troop of men, which now officially included two of her brothers, he followed docilely behind her. It was probably true that this elf had all the pride of a Calaquendi, but what did that matter, if he hadn't the opportunity to demonstrate it?

Lusis was glad of that eventuality. They were a long way from the lawful world out here, and she had a gnawing suspicion that if Osp slipped up, someone was going to hit him. She watched her elves cluster and saw Glorfindel raise his head, his eyes and chest sparked with that lustrous fire of his. He glared at the Noldor from the West.

Strike Osp? In battle, the Elfking was many things: hot; irritated; impatient; focused; and, finally, on-point and at peace. In spite of Thranduil's temper, he wasn't terribly violent. So her money was on Glorfindel.

She stopped when her Rangers surrounded her again. The tall elf with her looked around them as if he'd never seen Men before. And that… was possible. She looked up at his eyes, which were, in colour, a nearly perfect coppery gold. His dark eyelashes flickered in quick blinks. Elves didn't blink very habitually. The particular concoctions of sentiment that led to their sustained blinks, or these small storms of eyelashes, as she called them, were still a mystery to Lusis.

Icar looked the tall elf over and glanced at Lusis. "Uh…" he pointed in Osp's direction. He glanced at his brother.

"Yeah," Aric exhaled and nudged Steed. "I see him. Can this one fight, Lusis?"

Steed chuckled, "Only you could go into battle and come out with an entirely new elf."

"Let him alone." Lusis told them. She shook her head, which was still a bit foggy with the blow she'd taken. Her men were in good shape. Aric had a bandage, as did Redd, but they looked hale.

"What's the word from the King then, Lus?" Elsenord wiped off his sword partly in a fallen werewolf and partly in Aric, who gave the Buckmaster a dark look, particularly because it made Steed grin. Elsenord ignored the Ranger – he'd known both Awnsons for years. Instead, he glanced at the Noldor. "And who is this elf? I've never seen one with eyes like that. Is that normal for elves?"

"No," said several voices, including Steed's and Lusis'.

Only Osp had said, "Quite."

Lusis glanced across to where the conversation between the King, the Lord, and the warrior, Glorfindel was breaking. There were few words involved, which meant they were probably thinking their thoughts at one another. She exhaled and glanced at the tall elf, "This is my troop. They're Northern Rangers some of them – great soldiers of the North. And some are Messenger Men. You can think of them as soldiers who specialize in moving supplies from one point to another, often over hostile territory. They are brave, dangerous, and very skilled."

"Soldiers," the tall elf shifted weight and his shimmering robe seemed to spark with patterns of twigs and leaves in fiery red. He smoothed it absently.

Lusis turned to her troop. "Rangers, this good elf is called Osp. He is from the West. We need to safeguard him. As far as I can see he has no combat skills."

"Fires," Aric pinched the bridge of his nose. "I can't take any more."

"Strictly speaking, she cannot keep the King, Aric." Steed snickered.

"Then what about Legolas?" Aric sighed, "Dorondir. Any elf with a sword-arm." He glanced across at Glorfindel and then back to Lusis. "You never bring back anything useful." He exclaimed.

Redd shook his head. "Hush." Lusis glanced at him and saw that his eyes were on Osp. She could fairly hear the chains and levers in his skull clanking.

"Oh, but you don't look like you're out of Rivendell…." Remee's brows went up at the colour of this new elf's eyes. He looked at Redd – the only one of them who had been raised in the vast book vault known as the Northern Hoard. "All the way from Grey Havens, is he?"

"The West," Osp spoke in his sparking voice, but more slowly this time, as if it should have been utterly obvious. At the same time, he tucked a stray lock of long, black, billowing hair back into his hood with a graceful hand. The filmy ring he wore caught Redd's attention. "Valinor."

"Never heard of it," Aric spit blood on the ground. "So, in Valinor, don't they teach you how to-"

Redd clapped a hand down on Aric's shoulder and silenced him. He just stared at the elf. "You were one of the ones in the cloaks when the festival opened. One of those on the balcony. I glimpsed you even if the others didn't."

"Yes."

"And the others are from Valinor?" Redd asked breathlessly.

"Lord Loss and Lady Glir." The elf's head swayed and one of his dark brows rose in curiosity. "They are from Valmar and Aqualonde, yes."

There was a moment of silence during which Steed stepped around Elsenord to get a better look at the elf, and it was clear he also understood what this elf was saying.

Redd managed to ask, "What are you doing here, great elf of the West?"

Now Lusis pulled a face and pointed out, "Redd, he followed you from-"

"Not what I mean," Redd cut her off unapologetically. "What are you doing, outside of the Undying Lands? Why would you cross the sea and come all this way?"

The elf looked away and down. "It is not for me to say," but then he did something Lusis had never seen an elf do before, not one in this attitude of disavowal. His eyes opened and those great glinting mirrors rolled under his eyelids to take in Redd. "May I walk with you, Ranger? You know of Valinor… somehow. I am curious about how. Has some elf told you? That Sinda back there couldn't have told you this. Like the rest of his ilk, he's never been."

Icar's jaws clacked together and he spoke between his teeth. "Did you mean to say 'the King'?"

Lusis changed her wager. If anyone was going to hit Osp, it was Icar.

She reached a hand out to grip his upper arm and squeezed some sense back into his eyes. Then she released the breath she'd been holding. "Clean up. I'll wager the King will have us press on to Long Lake from here, rather than risk a night outside with werewolves."

"Werewolves," Osp glanced at the large, matted body off to his left. It stank of a deep musk, overlaid with the stench of death. But there was a deeper pong on it that disturbed him even more.

"He killed these?" Osp asked no one in particular, his hands folded together.

"The King?" Icar asked for clarification. "He and Glorfindel did."

"How can he tolerate being near them?" asked the tall, slender elf.

Lusis shook her head, "He doesn't kill them because he likes them." She glanced over her troop and up to Remee and Redd, the two largest and tallest men. "Get some branches down and make them travel ready. There are fewer trees between here and Long Lake and if we need a litter for Lord Elrond, we're not going to be caught without."

"Lusis Buckmaster," said the King from behind her, "If it comes to pass that there is pressing need for Lord Elrond to be carried hence, I will do it myself, for much of the peace in this world is owed to him, the peace my elves enjoy."

She turned to him and stepped forward so that he was the only one she could see.

Sometimes she wished they could have been alone, not unlike in those few rare times in Lake Township where he was willing to interact with the girl who guarded his room. It was probably not good that she considered him a salve at the end of her days. Still.

He looked down on her, head to the right. His voice was quiet. "Can you travel, Lusis-sell? You are bruised. I did not see what befell you, but… to need intervention from another. It was serious."

She raised her chin and didn't reply when Icar said her name. She wasn't sure it was a question in any case. "I'll fare well enough. Are you unhurt?"

"Entirely." He told her and instructed, "And we must press for Long Lake. I hear distant wolves running to the smell of blood. They come to eat their own kind. The land hereabouts, once safe for Men, has fallen to forces boiling out of the foulness of Mordor."

Lusis nodded her head at the ground, which made her a little dizzy. She wavered where she stood. The blow to the back of her body and head, the battle, and the endless pressure in the air around her all summed up to an instant of sudden darkness.

The King steadied her with a nimble hand and a sudden exhalation, "Lusis?"

"Here," she said, as if sitting in the one-house classroom her father had insisted upon.

She heard Redd behind her. "Cut the branches, boys. If we need to carry her, it will be done."

The Elfking's great white stag joined them within the mile, when they were far upwind of the fallen werewolves. Then the King walked beside it on its right, and Glorfindel at its left. It was pale Elrond who sat astride its back. The elk had bourn the Lord of Rivendell once before, though he couldn't recall its having happened. It took the Elvenking speaking to the great beast for it to accept someone – even an elf – that it hadn't chosen for itself.

Within two hours, the sky opened up and drenched them in an autumnal rain. The moon lost itself behind the clouds, but, by then, Dorondir had appeared from the darkness, and he came with elf horses, the kind who needed no lead but the will of the elf guiding them in place of ropes.

Lusis lifted her head up from the cold sucking muck and shaking rain when the half-Noldor arrived. He could only have been here if he'd left very shortly after they'd last spoken. Even in the swirling state of misery she was in at that moment, she smiled when she saw him pull back his hood, and his green eyes found her plodding beside her Rangers.

Steed held out a pale hand to Remee. "Pay me now, or there will be compounding interest."

"Stars. Part-elves."

"You have elf-blood," Steed gave him an elbow in the arm. "Pay me. Let's go."

"A thimble full does not qualify as 'elf-blooded'." Grumbled Remee as he searched through his pouch for the right monies.

"It's your own fault. Never doubt him if he says horseflesh is on its way," Aric snickered up at Remee. "Pounding rain, fireside in the Grand Ballroom of Gondor, doesn't matter if you're sitting in a boat at sea. If he says there's one coming, one will swim by."

Lusis glanced over the tall elf before her. He seemed to get further and further away, Osp. Tireless in the rain. Comfortable. Warm. His strange cloak shimmering softly with tall grass.

Dorondir's great silver-dappled horse came around the flank of the Ranger band, and he leaned out of his saddle and caught her sagging body up. Lusis felt nerveless. She lacked the energy to dispute. He pulled her into his cloak, which was the only respite she had from the rain.

The King spoke her name. It came to her ear as though it fell down a snow-fogged pass, soft and muffled. In fact, it seemed more in her head than in air. She blinked heavily, and groped for that intoning, as if she could touch the shirred fur of his voice, pull it around her shoulders, and feel warm. But she could no more hold a voice in her hand than she could moonlight. She felt her head roll against the heat of Dorondir, and her eyes stared, coincidentally, into the bright fire of him, behind the grill of bone. She pulled in a breath.

Just seconds later, the Elfking turned her head to face him, his hand cupped her cheek and, for a moment it seemed that elves were the only warmth in the world. She watched the King's silver eyes. His lips moved in soft speech.

Her brain heard him as if he whispered in her ear.

There is an oppression upon her. Great… is the evil that dwells East of our gates.

She fairly saw his voice as motes in air. Sparks that spilled around her, inextinguishable by rain. Lusis looked into the pillar of light that was one with the fire of Thranduil Oropherion. She found his silver disk eyes and she told him. It reaches its fingers not for me… but for the Lord.

The Elvenking's lips moved softly and the pillar of light rose up in him. His hand, against her cheek, brightened so that she had to narrow her eyes, and that bright aura sank through her skin and into her blood. It coursed through her with a quickening beat, until it crossed the face of her star, and that bright power pulsed through the darkness. Rising up and spreading out for leagues.

Then she could hear the rain, but the weight and misery were gone.

She sat up and opened her eyes.

Dorondir still held her sitting on the withers of the silver mare he rode. He shied from her nearness, and then his long legs squeezed the barrel of the horse. "My Lord, she seems fully recovered."

She wasn't convinced of that. In fact, it seemed she'd been unaware of her situation for long time, and only coming groggily too now, but elves knew next to nothing of exhaustion.

The King opened some rein for the bull-elk, and kept easy pace with them as they flew through rain. Yes, the horses were full of fire, now that the lights of Lake Township were straight ahead.

Lusis looked upward, vaguely aware of the glow of – that would be her fire – above them against the rainclouds. Frankly… she wasn't certain what she felt about that. But it seemed something close to fear. She turned away from it and touched her heel to the horse's flanks. It shot forward.

They raced across the rolling hills to Lake Township, and bells went off as guards on new-built stone watchtowers saw their band, saturated wet, tearing into the only human habitation in all of the Elvenking's prosperities.

A new road led from the park-like field beside Lake Township. That green growth there eternally flowered. The white cobbles ran to the ring of guard houses around the great Silver Beech. It towered, faintly glowing, where the King had – at their behest – claimed this human land and expanded his territory here. At the other end of this sprawling field a large collection of aspens stood, with benches set among them. A fountain now stood where, once, there had been the body of Lammia, Lusis' first great enemy. The humans had hoped to exchange that memory for a welcoming place, it seemed, for the elf citizens of their Kingdom.

They tore around the side of that stand of aspens, charged through the field, and thundered onto the white cobbles, with the ringing of bells chasing them. Lusis glanced around her and saw that the walls at Kasia's Keep and business – the edge of town – had been reinforced. A wall-walk had been added, with arrow loops. But the men at attention there stood down.

So many forces now! So organized! And it had only been half a year.

Through the rain, she heard calls go out. "The King arrives!"

That call was repeated as they swept across the white stone and found the cobbles of Kasia's grand Keep had been replaced in the same bright stuff, and in the middle of the sea of white was the lozenge of Thranduil Oropherion's house – the same that was set in the floor of the throne room in stained wood, and with which he sealed decrees. But here it was rendered in bright stone. A silver-blue field with red, gold, and green oak leaves, white antlers that rose out of a ten pointed star in gold. The King saw this with some curiosity. He hadn't been aware the Men had known about this symbol.

"Someone is paying attention," Redd mused. As they pulled to a stop, the huge Ranger gestured at long, gold-coloured streamers, decked in the white flags of the King's seal. They flicked in the wet night wind in the light of tall lamps. They decorated the silver tree ornamented with the same lozenge.

The King's bull-elk turned side-on to Kasia's Keep, yet still moved toward it in the downpour. The local human forces had lined up along the white yard and were now before the King, nearly unflinching in their resolve. They were outfitted properly, it was clear. Well-armed. Unified. Work had been ongoing among the once dispirited and hunted human law enforcement of Lake Township. It was gratifying for the King to witness.

The double doors to the covered deck of Kasia's Keep opened, and then darkened before the onset of curious staffers. There were more inside than there had been prior.

The Elvenking pulled in rein for the Northern Ranger, Argus Samas, who crossed the cobbles. The forces Men stepped back and aside as he came. There was a kind of neophyte precision in it. As if they had learned something from the exactitude of elves. For his part, the gangly Ranger sloshed through the yard nearly up to the great elk, until the beast put its head down with great antlers coming to bear. It had decided he was close enough, and Argus agreed. He stopped and opened his empty hands.

"We had no idea you were coming, King," the Ranger squinted up into the downpour. "Is there alarm?" He rightly expected warning before the King came riding in. Kings and companions were a lot of work. Preparation time was required. Having him meant opening rooms. It required space and extra effort. As if the same thought had occurred to them, several of the staff hurried away from the tall doors of the Keep and raced back into the house. Nothing was ready for him.

The King had also noticed. He glanced at the lights in the Keep. Oil lamps coming on in the upstairs hall of windows.

"No alarm," said the King lightly. His white bull-elk glided forward on its long legs, all seven feet of elk, at the withers, passed between Forces men with only the soft tap of forked hooves. He spoke in elvish. The Forces men turned to see rows of elves in their water-resistant hooded cloaks. Standing wordlessly, noiselessly behind them. Out of nowhere. They moved aside for the passage of the King as if skating over the surface of the water in the yard.

The King gave a single backward glance and Lord Elrond started forward, followed by Glorfindel and then Dorondir. Everyone else, even the great Noldor Kindred, Osp, waited for Lusis.

She got off her elf horse and handed the reins over to the scurry of young men rushing from the warm rectangle of the stable doors. She and her Rangers went inside. Osp was last among them, and looked at the construction of the house, at its unfamiliar shapes, and confined spaces – nothing open to the wild – with an air of incredulity. His peach-golden gaze set on Lusis, and she nodded at him. All elves had some degree of difficulty adjusting to human construction. Case in point, Dorondir pulled back his hood and glanced at the narrow halls at the back of this main room with an air of suspicion. It wasn't that he deeply distrusted the staff there. He intensely doubted the safety of what, for the elves, was such a small, tunnel-like passageway.

The King went to the top of the main hall and gestured at the white hide chair that was considered to be his when he was here. The Lord Elrond unhooked the long cloak he wore. Dorondir stepped up and took it from the Lord's shoulders without any need to be asked. The Elflord looked both stern and pale now. His dark grey eyes were clouded with exhaustion. He graciously took to the white chair.

Jan Kasia, the Master of Boats, and the businessman in charge of the large warehouses, actually raced in through the opened double-doors. He carried an oil lamp on a long and hooked walking stick he set in a stand by the door. He blinked upon seeing the stern, dark-haired elf in the white chair with his circlet glinting in the firelight. Kasia's very human eyes glanced over tall, disapproving Glorfindel, and the contained uneasiness of Dorondir, who had cursory skill with humans. He stepped further into the room and found the white mane of the King at the fireside. It had never seemed likely that proud, powerful Kasia would breathe a sigh of relief on sight of the Elvenking, but he did so. He even remembered to bow, though that might have been easier than usual, as he bowed at the King's turned back.

"My Lord… what are you doing here?"

Kasia sounded shocked. All around him, in the upstairs hall, just out of sight, and all the halls leading to the main room, the staff gathered to hear.

The Elfking turned from the fire and drifted up through the middle of the room. As he went, he let the great cloak he wore slither to the floor, and from his full armour. In so much blue-shot steel, all of it covered in the impression of crow-feathers, and with his white hair drenched against him, he looked not only intimidating, but feral. His head turned, and his unblinking pupils dilated against sheerest blue. His voice was low and threatening. "Should I not be here, Jan Kasia?"

In the silence between them, the girl carrying a heated vessel of mulled wine cringed as she set it out on the sideboard. More servants came behind her, carrying trays of hot scones, tureens of cream, and bowls of compote. Osp looked in their direction, transfixed.

"Of course you should," Kasia exhaled and backed from the vision of sudden annoyance dropping down upon him like a thunderhead. He'd been told many times that the Elfking had a temper. His slow gesture seemed to push the suggestion away. But he struggled for words in the face of the sharp-eared, glowing creature that was his otherworldly King. "But… we would expect some word."

Lusis glanced across at Dorondir. His green-eyed gaze assiduously ignored her.

"Perhaps that could have been arranged," the King's voice was taciturn. "But we were interrupted by a rather large pack of werewolves on the plain between the forest's edge and the River Running. Is there something you forgot to mention in your missives, Jan Kasia?"

The man gawped. "A pack of… what my Lord?"

"King," Elrond's resonant voice said lightly. He tapped his pursed lips with one fingertip, highly entertained by the human subjects of the Elvenking, and it was less Kasia than the staff now coming into the room to make busy laying out blankets on couches, and whatever else they could dream up to do.

"A pack of what… my King," Kasia corrected with a glance at the dark-haired elf. His voice dropped low, "And who is he?" He pointed at his own head, "Why is he wearing a circlet? He's been here before…. Is he your brother?"

The Elfking shut his eyes and said, "It would serve you better to confess to me why the rolling lands between my stronghold and yours," he snagged the cup of wine offered in his peripheral vision as a matter of habit, "are so clotted with goblins and werewolves that it took part of an hour for we – we elves and Northern Rangers – to hack through a single pack of them."

The girl who had brought the wine wobbled away so quickly she nearly fell. It was Glorfindel who caught her around the elbow and kept her on her feet. His shining hair and pale blue eyes seemed to scare her and enchant her in equal parts. He released her, straightened, and looked into his hand for a moment before he beheld the girl in severe regard. She saw that he was affronted, turned, and scurried for the kitchens with a head-bow for the Elfking.

Poor thing. Lusis sucked air through her teeth, her glance at Glorfindel harsh on her way to Jan Kasia. When they'd first met, this mogul had been striding through a field full of boat wreckage just to the West of the Halls. He was impetuous, yes, but also blatantly honest. "Did you know anything about the build-up of dark forces along the River Running?"

"I have had no word." He seemed very surprised, and rubbed the stubble on his face. "It seems unlikely, Miss Istari, and my King."

The Elvenking asked quietly over the rim of his wine goblet. "Perhaps I should have brought you the head of a werewolf, Kasia, as with the Fire Salamander. You have proven to require the material evidence of an evil, the feel of it in the air around is something you do not discern."

"I had," Kasia raised both flattened hands, "no idea. And it seems unlikely that such a thing would be possible, my Lord – my… my King. We have boats that go by that way to communities on the Sea of Rhun. We do trade at the bazaars there. Gondor has many outposts there… and there is extensive discussion of a great wall being built to close in Mordor."

"And you smell profits on the wind." The Elvenking gave a soft huff of humour and almost smiled. "If, in fact, I were your enemy, Kasia, I would by no means interrupt the passage of the very ships I considered my spoils. Let them do their commerce and money exchange in the North East, yes, but let their boats be towed home to a new leader. What care businessmen if there is no murmur in their wealth? It is not the men of the boats who would go missing, but the men of the unincorporated settlements hereabouts."

"The squatters?" Jan Kasia asked. "Those criminals that Mordor soldiers let out of prisons and set to causing chaos in the land? Those reprobates and degenerates? What do I care of them?"

"Even the dwarves carry songbirds when digging deep," The Elvenking said softly. He set the nearly untouched wine aside on a passing tray and said, "This wine is insipid."

The servant, a young man who seemed very shy of the elves, nodded, wide-eyed, and carried the cup of wine away.

"Songbirds?" Kasia invited.

"If the air of the deep is poison, the bird dies first, Kasia." The King's head rose and tipped to one side. "That does not mean all the dwarves will live. But Oakenshield himself once put it to me, there is no mistaking a dead songbird. The hamlets and dells full of miscreants exist so that they may serve as a warning. Send Forces or Rangers among them, quietly, ingeniously, and find out how many are missing." The Elfking turned to Lusis, "These are figures… I will need to consider."

She nodded at him, quietly, and saw him twist his long, pale hair in one hand like it was a dishcloth. Not that she figured he would've had occasion to twist one of those. But it was so punitive, that action, that he discerned she winced, and he left his hair alone, damp as it was. Lady Galadriel might have dried it with a sunny gesture of her fingers, Lusis thought. They looked so fair together, like innate lovers. She shrugged the thought away and watched the Elvenking turn to admonish, "Never again ignore the presence of those fallen Men at your borders, Kasia. They are more than dross and inconvenience. They may rise up one day… for good or ill. You must know them, and be ready."

He pivoted and went toward the white chair, not yet looking at the Lord there. "Kasia, I do not believe you have had a formal introduction to the," the Elfking's graceful head turned and he paused. Elrond was now swaddled in warm blankets, his boots set upon a wooden rest, and his long and pale hands held a cup of tea.

"I like it here," Lord Elrond's brows rose, and his round, beauteous, elven voice riffled through the room like waves in fields of wheat. He sipped the tea and smiled after judicious elvish fashion, but his expression held a clear edge of humorousness in it, "I can see why you claimed the land."

"So you could lounge in my chair and have honeyed tea." The Elfking said pointedly, also inadvertently admitting he considered it his chair.

Lord Elrond looked up from his cup and saucer, pleased with himself, and his work here. "Ah, remunerations. Pray, do not rush me. I have years of the splendid Elvenking, Thranduil Oropherion, faithfully being exactly who he is, and behaving precisely, unabashedly, and completely… however he wants. It's a lot to make up."

The Elfking's long back stiffened. "Are you enjoying yourself, Lord Elrond?" The words were wound up in exasperation.

Now the Elflord slipped. He truly smiled as he put his head down. When he glanced up again, he was still bright with amusement. He told the King, "I plan to be highly inconvenient." He inclined his head and then paused for thought, and added another, "Highly."

The Elvenking exhaled, gathered calm to him, and let his lids lower on his silver eyes. Somehow, he inclined in answering acceptance. "Lord Elrond, I do not pretend at… being agreeable."

"Ever." Lord Elrond gave a huff of humour, "In the way you 'do not pretend' at anything."

The Elfking's head tipped, "Perhaps. But, in any case, it is right that the Men of this place are gentle to you – you were once such as they are." He ignored Lusis' startled glance. "Rest here, Lord of Rivendell, for the long work is only beginning. Let the Men of Kasia see to a room for you, and Glorfindel shall help you into it."

"With tea," said the Lord in a somewhat drained intonation. He looked into his cup gratefully, "Good Men of Kasia. Tea."

Kasia was taken aback, "Well… of course. It will be done for you, Lord." This was an interesting about-face. He'd feared the grand, severe, and reverberant Elflord when he'd laid eyes on him in their meeting prior. Now he seemed shamed by Lord Elrond's seeming-humanity.

Lusis left the side of the King as the great Sinda got into conversations about business. Rangers gathered at the sideboard, eating. Osp studied the room in fine detail – the wood-grain; the buttresses; the bare, stained rafters; the white plaster walls; the rugs and tapestries; the hide chairs. He was not in his world. This was not an elven space in the slightest. And so he drifted through it, disconnected except for the curiosity of Icar following behind him.

When she reached the green-eyed spy and warrior, he tried to pass her by in favour of going to the Lord in the white hide chair, but Lusis reached out and snagged his vambrace. "Dorondir."

He leaned over her a fraction. "Lusis."

"You were here half a day ahead, and you didn't warn Men that the King was coming?" she said softly to him. "Why not?"

Now Dorondir's lips curved softly at her. One of his dark brows rose up, "I only do as instructed, Lusis-gwend. And… it is not me you ask."

She shook her head at him, "Of course it is."

"No," he smiled softly and then his green eyes found the King. "It is him. I am incidental."

They both straightened then. The activity in the upper level had woken the youngest resident of the Kasia house, and now she stood in a pretty patchwork dressing gown, thick with ruffles. She saw the Elvenking and made a strangled peep. Even he looked up at this, and, mid-sentence, inclined his blond head to Kasia's young daughter.

Avonne Kasia pulled free of her Nanny and charged down the stairs.

"Careful!" Kasia scolded her, but the girl was too excited to pay him heed. She crossed the intervening space in the downstairs with her slippered feet hardly touching the floor. She reached out her thin arms and crashed into the King's ribs with a clang.

The Elfking sucked a breath in dismay. "Avonne-sell, have you hurt yourself?" He glanced down at the top of her curling head. "You will be soaked through – I have ridden in a driving rain, little one."

Kasia set a hand on his little girl's shoulder. "Ave, my love, have you knocked out what sense you have on that armour? You mustn't cling to the King of the Great Greenwood. Go back upstairs."

But the King backed away and the girl went with him, "Glorfindel."

The butter-blond strode over to the King and extended a blade-like hand to the human child, but without touching her. As if that should have been enough. "No sell. One must withdraw." He said by rote. It sounded very much like something that adult elves told little elf gwinig – babies – as they began to grow to older children. Withdraw. Avoid contact. Eschew powerful emotions. Powerful emotions can damage and kill.

Avonne peeked out from where she'd wrapped her arms around the King's waist, but she spared no more than a single glance for Glorfindel. She did say, "Go away." to him.

"Leave her," Thranduil said quietly. "The armour."

But Redd had already stepped up, sodden as they all were, and he intervened. Between the two of them, they got the King's breastplate quickly away. Then the Elfking dropped to a knee before the crying girl. He sighed, and his head tipped right and forward of its own bidding. "Ai. What is all this, Avonne-sell?" That voice, so gentle and yielding, was reserved for small and fragile things.

Avonne managed to tell him, "I didn't think… you would come back. It's been a… long time."

The King's silver eyes narrowed and he repeated the quiet words, slowly, "A long time."

She nodded and wiped her eyes in her sleeve. "I missed you."

This required the Elfking to pull himself under wraps. For his pale, inexpressive face had reacted with hints of surprise and pain. Glorfindel fell back and walked to the fireplace, he put his back to the King rather than witness, even though the King smoothed himself quickly. He looked at the human child and said, "You… you've changed."

"They grow up quickly," Kasia watched the King with wonder.

The seven-year-old reached out and patted his sodden hair as carefully as a child could touch a thing. She smoothed water out of it, and it ran down his white steel pauldron. Then she reached up to reveal the curve of his elven ear. Like most humans, she found the shape curious and lovely. She smiled at him. "Will you be staying, Thranduil-ada?"

"For a time, yes. Shall you?"

She laughed through her tears. It was a silly question and meant to be.

"I will introduce you to the Lord of Rivendell," the King straightened and took her hand in his.

Kasia said, "There's no need, King…" but he spoke quietly, and in a cursory way. It occurred to him that the Elfking had great affection for Avonne, and his handling of her was not a matter of elven etiquette. He had not thought it possible for an elf to truly care for the plight of a human child.

The Elfking was not aware of this realization. He was looking down at Avonne, "He is a great Elflord with a glowing elven stronghold built on cliffs between waterfalls."

Avonne looked up at him and shook her head, "It must be so damp."

The King immediately looked away. His lovely face had dimpled with humour and he'd almost laughed. "He will tell you all about it, I am certain. And he also has a daughter – Arwen, who is so fair she is called the Evenstar by all elves – and you may pet his hair as you please." He steered her to the Elflord. Lord Elrond set aside his tea and his dark grey eyes darted up to Thranduil.

"Thranduil." He said quickly, "I am in no way familiar with human chil-"

Thranduil lifted Avonne into Elrond's lap and she reached up and gave his hair a gentle tug. "I'm Avonne. Your hair is the colour of hot cocoa. It's soft and pretty. But Thranduil-ada's is even prettier." She paused for breath and asked a very serious, "When you live between two waterfalls, is it damp?"

Foreseeing that he might be drawn into this, Glorfindel edged away from the pair of them.

The Elvenking's expression smoothed, and he returned to the cold, difficult being that Jan Kasia and Lake Township both needed and prized, and feared and revered. His silver disk eyes and slow, feral motions returned to the fore at once.

"Jan Kasia. Rouse the Council." He took the new goblet of wine offered him – this time the best in the house, and, likely, in the city. He turned to glance at one of the local section heads of his elves where he waited politely just outside the open double doors. "Report."

It felt strange, coming back to the well-ordered life of Lake Township.

On the first night, Lusis had gone up into the long hall at the front of Kasia's house. She hadn't realized the King had come out of the room he traditionally occupied to watch her. In fact, she had fixed on the bench she'd slept on the first time she'd been here. It had been set back to the far end of the hall, where it had originally stood. She'd also touched her throat, which had once been in a state of slowly increasing constriction, as if in the coils of a snake, when Lammia had been trying to harvest the power of an Istari.

The Elfking had restrained her by the wrist when she'd taken a step in the wood bench's direction and he'd insisted on her taking a room, which she occupied with her brothers, given the numbers they'd arrived in.

Still, she had woken up that first morning, leaned in the doorframe of the King's room. That was how she had learned that she was too anxious for his safekeeping in any habitation of Men to leave him alone, without Elites on guard, in a room whose door he wouldn't even shut. Likewise, she'd learned he was unwilling to have her sleep on a slab of unrelieved wood. The next night, an elven cot had appeared beside the King's door. It was a leaf-shaped web of ropes, and naturally cupped, which stood on small wood stands that folded into staves – she found it ingenious. When she'd arrived and spread out thick down blankets on the cot, she'd spared a glance in at the Elfking. He'd been curled on the large bed, clad in a silky crimson robe, reading paperwork. Seemingly oblivious to her appreciation.

The very face of innocence. But it could only have been brought there because of his orders.

It felt strange to be back to Lusis. It was at once, welcome, peculiar, and painful.

Some part of her had begun to think of Kasia's as home.

But this was the house of a business associate, and she had no home of her own.

And then it had been a week.

She had no idea what operations happened with Lord Elrond. To her eye, it seemed the King went about the business of getting things on track, as was required when he was here. She had gotten a little better acquainted with the Lord, mostly enough to notice his sense of humour was something refined, but had a curiously human edge to it. Something about him was slightly closer to what she was than it was to the Elfking. It was also likely, or so the Elfking had told her in passing, seeing as they spent less time together when they were in this place, that the remaining Three Kindred knew he was here by this time.

But they wouldn't come into a city of Men.

Lord Elrond also preferred to keep away from the humans.

This new city of the Elvenking's holding, it isolated him perfectly.

And that's what Lake Township was becoming. A city, rather than a town.

She felt that these bastions of humanity had an inherent arrangement to them, a… pattern that elf life did not possess. At night it was dark, and the people slept. Elves did not. They were awake at all hours – reading, thinking, drawing, or playing. In a human town, when it was day the shops and carts and businesses opened and the streets and markets and all other places were packed with people. There were no shops among the elves. There was no paying. Elves bought and sold, used money and knew its relative value, only in the outside world. Even something that basic wasn't the same.

Humans went along the streets below laughing, smiling, whistling, singing, heckling, carrying on, some sorrowful, some limping, begging, suffering, hungering, forgotten, angry, bleeding, beaten, and shouting. She remembered the King enumerating core values of elven life: fortitude, serenity, restraint, nonexistence of interpersonal violence, and the habit of peace. When she stood back and looked at the street – at the circus of it – she began to understand, dimly, what it was the elves saw here. No tranquility. No discretion. Avarice. Disorderliness. And a fearsome lack of self-control.

She stood on the uppermost deck of Kasia's shipping business, looked down at the market on Water Street, and at the craftsman's shops on Main, and she felt almost dazed. A butcher snapped the neck of a bird by whirling it in air. Crowds bellowed over themselves at shop-keeps. A girl pulled a man into an alleyway, money changed hands, and he scooped her against the bricks for sport. It was all visible from above. Off to her left, a boy stole pulled-toffee and the man behind the counter snapped his shop-cloth against a child. Old friends met and made great show of embracing. In her mind, in the back of it, Lusis stood on Buckmaster Spur and looked at the ice on the Northern-most trees of the Great Greenwood. The quiet muffler of snow. In the back of her mind, she heard the cold, hollow wind stroke the emptiness around her. In her father's world. Not here. But here. Lake Township was swollen with newcomers. It was busy. It was growing rapidly. And there was chaos, and racket.

The Forces and Rangers would be essential.

By all accounts, criminal activity was booming, so much so that she'd spoken with Ranger Chief Argus Samas, and elven spy Dorondir, about how Rangers and Forces could safely infiltrate the criminal underworld… just to keep an eye on them. Not a pair she'd ever dreamt would work as a team. And speaking of elves….

Osp fairly panted from where he leaned on the wooden wall behind her. He was off to her left, and on one side of an open door, struggling with what was, to his sharper senses, an indescribable commotion. He bowed his head with his shoulders heaving. His black hair freed itself from the sheerest of clips – they looked like gauzy pussy willow seeds rendered in filaments – and tangled in the breeze.

On her right beside the door, and likewise against the wall, was Dorondir. His head was tipped back against the wood. He leaned against his hands, behind him, and his chest rose and fell steadily. His eyes, the green colour of crabapples, now looked at the sky, now looked at the human crowds, and looked at the sky again.

Glorfindel leaned in the doorway in his great, golden grandeur. And his lips curled. "They bark and bite and breed in the streets like feral dogs." His head tipped so that long locks of hair billowed around the doorframe into the wind. His blue eyes, the colour of the aquamarines of Erebor, swept to Lusis, "This is what Thranduil claimed as his own?"

Dorondir put his head down. "Forgive me, Istari. There is much feeling in them. It moves me." His voice was little better than a whisper as he said it.

Lusis felt great sympathy for him. He had been ordered to do this, daily, by the Elvenking, who felt that it was important he learn to adjust.

Glorfindel gave a huff. "It is an insult to the good Silvan of Mirkwood that he claims this place and its Men. Loud, ponging, shouting-"

"Full of life," Dorondir put in. "Teeming with it."

"Perhaps he means full of lice?" Glorfindel chucked toward Osp.

The Kindred slowly raised his head. He schooled himself and blinked at the crowd before him. "No, look…" his voice died away in the sudden bawling of a kid-goat going to slaughter. All the elves, even the tough and cynical warrior, Glorfindel, looked away from it. Osp's long arms wrapped around himself, around his ribs in the long, shimmering cloak he wore.

Then the cries cut off and Glorfindel's voice was hard, "You were saying?"

Dorondir reached across the doorway to lay a hand on Osp's arm. "Speak, good Osp. Speak on, please, and tell me what thing you saw."

Osp pulled a breath, "In the window, several houses away, there is a woman singing." He turned his overwhelmed face toward Dorondir, and the elf's long and graceful hand fell away from the Kindred. "It is hard to hear. And in her hands she holds… little windmills made of paper. Brightly coloured and spinning… pinwheels. Perhaps she entertains a child. Or perhaps she is simply… creative."

"Noldor elves," Lusis felt herself smile as she looked down on the thronging crowd. "They are attracted to any spark of creativity, like a moth to the moon. You must love the Elfking." She turned toward him and saw his copper eyes open upon her. He was so breathtaking.

But elves were, so she simply accepted this and smiled at him softly, so it wouldn't push him further than he could endure.

Dorondir glanced over the humans a final time. "I pity the sections here." He glided by Glorfindel and escaped inside. Shortly after, Osp followed.

Lusis stepped toward the door and Glorfindel shifted weight to fill it. He looked down at her with his pale blue eyes. He wasn't prone to playing games, so Lusis knew to ask about this.

"What is it?"

"I cannot see it."

Her eyes widened. Elves were notorious for their farseeing vision, "What can't you see?"

His shoulder rose. His chin tipped toward his long pale arch of collar bone. The proud elf's voice was a burning whisper. "I cannot see the reason for these people to be among elves. To be at all." His eyelids flickered, blonde lashes fluttering like moth wings. Glorfindel's hands on the doorframe tightened so that the wood dimpled.

Lusis glanced at them and recognized, dimly, the signs of elven panic. "No, Glorfindel. Be calm. Easy. You just love order, and they're disorderly. And you don't know them, yet. It is something to attend to. You will see their divine sparks of life." She could see them, quite literally, when she glanced. "It will be all right, Glorfindel. It will be-"

The Elfking appeared in the door behind him, extended a hand, and cupped the back of the warrior's bowed head. He pulled his pale hand along the golden strands in a long stroke. "Do not fear," the King's voice was as mild as spring air, "You have seen and done much that has injured your ability to feel, Glorfindel. You are not beyond hope, not beyond saving. You have not slipped from the light." The Elvenking's expression, at that moment, was a work of compassion.

The golden elf took his hands from the doorframe, and left marks. He turned to look at the King, and then strode by him on his way to the so called 'Quiet Room' that Kasia had designated on the side of the building furthest the crowd, and overlooking the King's Silver Beech. That was where even section elves withdrew when the press of Men became too much.

"They're off to the Quiet Room," Lusis said testily. "All of them."

The Elfking mused, "You are angry because I force them to look on the sprawl of Men?" He laid both pale hands on the doorframe, too tall to go through without ducking, if that was what was in his mind. But he stayed there, in her way.

"Because this is what you let them experience, and it's too much at once." She told him hotly.

"This is what Men are," the King told her lightly. His head tipped back a fraction, so that his silver eyes looked down across his high cheekbones. Then his chin sank, "You do not mean to suggest I should let them talk to humans. Do you expect that Glorfindel would survive it?"

She sighed at him, "I mean to suggest you're pushing them too far. And Osp? Why Osp?"

He made a small huff of amusement. "Why not?" He was not special to the Elvenking.

"What are they learning by watching the prostitutes operate in the Market alleys, and Men butchering animals?" she glanced down the long hall. "Hiding in that room, trying to regroup."

"That life is not simple. And that they must not dismiss that which they cannot understand." His silver eyes found her dark brown ones. "And that they are not gods."

"Oh, is that in order?" Lusis asked him sharply. "Dorondir. Glorfindel. And Osp?"

His silver eyes narrowed. "You feel for him."

"He's like a child." Lusis set a fist against her side of the doorframe without striking it. "Frightened like a child here. I swear, if you're doing this out of some warped sense of humour-"

"I went through this myself. I know its value. I know the madding and passion of humans. I know the wonder of their variableness. Their wildness. Their rebellion." The King swept her words aside, "And you know of whom I speak…. You feel for him. There is… some feeling." He looked displeased.

"Stop speaking in puzzles." She told him, shortly. "Let me through."

"You want to go check on them." The Elfking didn't move a muscle. "Do you believe they cannot make it to isolation on their own?"

"What is wrong with you?" she asked him coldly.

He eased back from the door by degrees. Shapely, beautiful, and pale as the throat of a dove. He was dressed in long and scintillating pale green. The gold threads warmed it. She couldn't, not by force of will, not distraction, not under threat, remove from her mind's eye that vision of him in white with the red berries in his crown. Sometimes, now, when she looked at him, she also had to look away.

The silvery stone in his circlet winked in the sun. She'd thought he hadn't brought it with him. He'd carried it instead of wearing it on the way here, just as he had not worn outward signs of his Kingship in the North.

When she passed him, she did head toward the Quiet Room. There were several elves inside. Two read in one corner. Osp stood at a window alone. Dorondir and Glorfindel spoke quiet elvish to one another and did not notice her glancing in. They seemed all right.

Lusis backed away and went down a parallel hall beside crates and objects roped off into longer-term storage. The owner's names, written on sheets, were pasted to the ropes around her. "Do you know, one of the men who works up her told me that they – the Men – tried to move chairs in, but the elves had moved them out?"

"We are not like them. Our rooms are long, for walking. Tall for standing." He followed her, though she didn't know why. "They are consoled by the windows overlooking the field and the trees. Likewise, you saw, they took the door off the hinges and removed it from the area. They can see who is coming, who is going. Comforting to elves. Things confusing to Men."

She exhaled as she turned to walk down the stairs. Lusis was sure it wasn't terribly convenient for him to come this way, tall as he was. He'd have to bend, and his outfit was quite a production, with its long coat and layered, cold-weather cloak out behind him on the wood floor. Beautiful thing. She glanced back at him, unable to prevent herself, even though she knew he would read it as 'Come with me', which she thought was a waste of his very important time at the moment.

Lusis arrived down at the shop-floor with him.

The first man who saw them arrive called out to the room, "King on the main floor." On the main floor all the men stood. They looked at him as he glided through row on row of desks – such a human place for him. His head turned slightly, but his eyes remained fixed. He lifted his head to look at the balconies above him. Lusis did too, and found they were lined with Men curious about the beautiful elf. They knew from accountings that he had used his fierce white sword in battle with Lammia and the Great Snakes of the Mountain. The skull of the Fire Salamander he had beheaded had been hung on the front of the building. But nearly none of them had witnessed his prowess in battle. And when they looked at him, he was so graceful in mien and flawless in motion – so refined – that they had a hard time contemplating his drawing blood. They feared him. And they were in love.

Now the Elvenking turned in place to look around him and his eyes fell on the lone, green-clad figure coming toward him in the room. He straightened. "Ewon."

Ewon stopped, inclined his head, and put a hand over his heart. He swept that glad hand outward at the King. "Joyfully, I return to your service, King of the Great Greenwood."

A bold young human chimed in to add, "And of Long Lake."

Ewon gave a huff of humour and looked in the direction the call had come from. He turned back to the King. "And of Long Lake, my King." There was a swell of approval from the balconies.

For a moment, the King said nothing at all. Then he asked, "Are you healed?"

"I am."

"My friend," the Elvenking said softly. He looked at Ewon for a moment more before he turned in the direction of the Counting room.

Lusis let him go without her. She waited for Nimpeth and Amathon to come through and join her. Nimpeth was all business now, but it was impossible to forget the ebullient elf girl who had shown her around part of the Halls. "I could hug the pair of you."

"And yet you do not," Nimpeth said quietly. She set a light hand on Lusis' shoulder and inclined her head. "I am happy that you are well. Very relieved that you were with him. He trusts you."

"He can trust you." Amathon laid his hand over his wife's. He stepped away to follow the King.

"I brought you sweets," Nimpeth said quietly. "We elves do not fancy them. The kitchen made them for the humans in the guest halls. And for you and your troop."

"I'm sorry we left so suddenly." Lusis told her. "It was a long, wet journey." She stopped short of adding, 'And there were werewolves'.

Nimpeth's eyes widened. "We had no idea. And I looked for you as well, friend-Lusis. I wanted to take you to the dragon pool. It was quite a party."

"And the Kindred?"

Now Nimpeth's smile wilted. Her head began to tip. "They want him back in the Halls, friend-Lusis. There is… contention. They want him back and with them, badly, as an elf wants for her sword, or a King for his heir – to feel secure."

"Secure in what?"

"I do not know their plans." Nimpeth nipped the corner of her bottom lip, a motion that Lusis had seen the King do in the past. She read it as unsettled. "The Lady Galadriel is with them almost constantly. They grow accustomed to her, and her wisdom, in the place of their Noldor, Osp. It is an interesting thing that they transfer to her, or seem to, some of the laud they must normally reserve for him. She is… perceptive, Lady Galadriel. She is bright in many senses."

"You do know Osp is here with us."

"I do. Lord Elrond drafted a missive that came from the aerie here to Lord Eithahawn."

Lusis blinked at her, "Lord?"

"He cannot, by the edicts of elven reckoning, be called 'Prince'. But since the night of the announcement, the elves of Mirkwood have been calling him Lord." She nearly smiled as she gestured at her black hair. "He now has a vine circlet in silver. It is made to look like wild strawberry runners complete with jewels for the berries. A lozenge flag of his own is under composition to include ten pointed antlers, which is only allowed of the royal line."

"He does look amazing in red." Lusis felt her brows rise. So did the King. She considered the hardworking Kingdom's-seneschal to be her friend. "How is he handling it?"

"By all accounts, he is very embarrassed." Nimpeth's chin rose proudly. She felt gratified that the attentions of her proud people had the power to humble such a great elf.

Lusis was smiling because she felt pleased for the deserving Kingdom. She added, "If your kitchens almost never make them, I'll most definitely take the sweets." Who knew what they would be like? It might be comical. Lusis glanced ahead at a sudden motion and she, like Nimpeth, loped into the room ahead of her. The King bent to sweep up Kasia's daughter, Avonne. She was the apple of Jan Kasia's eye, and the King tended to treat her like an elf child. She petted his long, white-blond hair and kissed his cheek.

"Just Avonne," said Amathon as they passed his position at the door of the Counting room and went inside. It was down a narrow hall that intersected a closed-in space with Forces guards posted inside of it. And Elow, one of the young Rangers that her troop-members had brought here. Elow bounced on his toes when he saw her, excited to have more Northern Rangers in their number. Excited that the King had returned to Lake Township.

"You should have seen what happened when she woke up and found the King here at the top of the week. Avonne cried." Lusis said lowly. "I think… he may be… good with children."

"It is so," murmured Nimpeth. "He took over care of an orphaned child of similar age, near death from great sorrow. Eithahawn. Though it is hard to tell that now."

Lusis felt the steel inside of her relax. It was in moments like these that she was utterly decided about her loyalties. If she loved Eithahawn, then she must love the King who – centuries before her birth in this world – had decided to save the life of an elf-child abandoned by war.

The Elfking held the girl on one hip, and spoke with Jan Kasia. Beside the Master of Boats stood patient, quiet Kuril Farna, the young and bright Trader's Guild member who also held a spot in the exclusive Council of Lake Township. As much as possible, Kuril tried not to speak to the King. Many on the Council felt that way, and they were gathering, now, coming through the side-door of the Counting Room.

The Lake Township Council arrived the way the King had come.

Cardoc Wence, who dealt in lumber, saw the King with a careful smile of greeting. He did speak to the King, quite commonly, in fact. Long before the land had been claimed, Wence had obeyed the Elfking's tithes and laws. They had a good relationship, mostly because Cardoc moved cautiously whenever doing any dealing that involved Mirkwood forest, the elves, Forest River, and tithes.

They all arrived to stand in a circle at the center of the Counting room. There was ample space for a large round table between the workers here, and perhaps once there had been one. But elves preferred to stand and walk about when possible. The lozenge of the King dangled from the rafters, painted on silk and absolutely startling in its beauty.

"That's lovely," Lusis told Kasia when she arrived before him.

He noted, "I… I asked for a symbol of the Kingdom. Two elves came in with a silk flag and they painted this right onto the silk. To see it was…" and he shook his head.

"Elves," said Nema as she folded her fur cloak over a nearby chair, "they are a wonder, are they not?" She glanced over the Elfking. He alone hadn't turned toward the flag. His eyes were combing over the long benches of counters writing numbers on legers. One man checking. The man beside him double checking, all under the observation of forces who walked along a balcony on the next floor.

The Counting room was an addition to the warehouse. And was much more stoutly built. Its walls were stone fronted with wood on the inside, and plaster on the outside. The vaults were underneath, dug deep into the ground in thick stone cellars. It was said they had been designed to flood with river water, if breeched.

Jan Kasia – Master of Boats – stood beside tall and sleekly beautiful Nema – Madam and Master of the Flesh-Trade hereabouts. Her business was one that the elves didn't grasp, or yet understand. She threw a sour look at Lusis, and then went to stand and stare at her North Star, the Elfking. Murric Vant was the Fishing magnate in Long Lake, and he didn't speak in front of the King. Ever. He had pale, wan and equally quiet Killan Wye by him, and the Master of Textiles stared covetously at the glittering threads in the clothes the King wore, for, no matter what he did, he couldn't get bolts of elf fabrics for himself. For certain he could get no elf-made coat for his possession, and nothing of the quality he saw in the King's clothes had ever passed through his hands. Until the arrival of Queen Arwen, even Gondor would've been hard pressed to lay eyes on work of its like.

The last to enter was Gurn Drivenn who was the Master of Forces hired by Cardoc Wence only four months ago. He had come in from Gondor's outpost at the Sea of Rhun, where he was a ranking officer and, according to the updates Lusis had overheard earlier in the week, had led an entire Battalion of Men – a number that fell somewhere between a Spark and a Hunt of elves.

He looked over the Elvenking and his brows bounced upward. "Pretty. But is he any good with the swords he carries?"

Jan Kasia glanced over at Drivenn and said an unequivocal, "Yes," then he opened his hands to the Council. "If you have a list of grievances, I would save it for the meeting later tonight. We'll have a scribe on hand for that one. There isn't one cleared for here."

Cardoc exhaled. "This is to be about the problem of the counters."

"Bah – counters. You turned up, beautiful one," Nema interrupted and she smiled at the Elfking. As ever, she looked beautiful and so slender that it seemed she maintained a very strict diet. But some things had changed about her. She now wore long, floating dresses. Her dark curls of hair were out loose around her bare collarbones, and she wore a small chain with a Mithril teardrop on it. An almost unheard of extravagance. Lusis watched the Madam's brown eyes brush over the same true-silver which made up the Elfking's leaf-patterned pauldrons. He wore an incomprehensible fortune on him, but then, nothing was tougher than Mithril. The matching breastplate would probably be strapped across his chest by nightfall. Nema looked back into the Elfking's silver eyes, "And unannounced. What a pleasant surprise, this is."

Cardoc Wence interjected on the heels of that. "Good timing, Elfking. Apologies for my absence. We were not informed of your arrival, and I was at trade with the dwarves."

But Cardoc was the Master of the Lumber trade.

The Elfking's brows drew up. "What do dwarves want with wood? Among them, everything is stone. Every cold table, every uncomfortable chair, every slab to rest upon. I swear, it's what's inside half of their heads." He sighed lightly and glanced over the paperwork that one of the human staff brought to him. His long eyes flicked aside and beheld the cowed young man shaking behind the missive. "Take it to the Aerie and send it to the Halls, care of-" and he glanced at Ewon, "What does he go by, now?"

Ewon inclined his head, "His name, my King, and – to we others – by Lord."

"Ah. Send it from the Aerie care of Lord Eithahawn of the Great Greenwood." The Elfking finished. "And courage, child."

"Yes, m-my Lord," the young man minced back.

"My King," Nema corrected the boy, gently.

Wence carried on, "They seem set on building structures for elven guests."

The Elfking turned his body, entirely, to face the man. "Say again, young one?"

Cardoc, who was in his forties in age, was often taken aback by the King's habit of calling all humans young ones at a point. Lusis, however, was enough in the know to realize it had less to do with the age of a person than the young and naïve words they'd often just spoken to him. "I said it is as if they wish to build something for elves, my Lord… or perhaps they have a client doing the same."

Lusis tried to puzzle that one out. "What elves are this way that don't fall under your purview in the Halls, Elvenking?"

"There are some…." the King said mysteriously. "But none that fall in with dwarves. Dwarves cut the throat of a High King, and there are, alive, elves who were there to see it. That enmity is old." He paused to take a question from a girl in a simple shift, who held a tray in her hand.

"King of elves… the staff wants to know… would you like wine?"

"Tisane." He set down Avonne, and she ran to the guard room to talk to Elow.

"Yes, of course." The young server drew away with a hasty bow. She couldn't seem to believe that such a radiant thing as the King could exist in Lake Township. The sun flooded through barred windows, overhead, and the King shone.

"They do brisk business in fabric too," Kasia cleared his throat, and he glanced over at Killian Wye, who dealt in Textiles, to confirm this.

"At least that makes sense," said the Elfking. "It wounds me to think that these dwarves, with their stores of coal, may be burning the deadfall of the Great Greenwood." His fingertips stroked the grain of the desk beside him, which was doubtless made of the exact same thing. Kasia looked between Wence and Wye because he felt the King had a good point.

"If they tell you a reason, record it." Kasia rubbed his face with a scarred hand, "We supplied fish to Mordor during the war, unawares. Let's not be blind to our role in the world again."

The King's voice was dry as he said, "In fairness, if you hadn't sold to them, they would have marched on to Long Lake and eaten you." His brows went up, and he entirely missed the horrified looks on the faces of the men around him.

Nema closed a hand over her middle in quiet distress.

Silence fell because the staff had returned.

When he looked up, the Elfking accepted a cup of tisane and sipped it. Blackberry. It was so delicious his eyelids shut a little. "Ma," he drew out the 'm' like a human would when something tasted really good, "This is well done."

The girl lit up. She nearly bounced in place with happiness. "I will return with a refill, my King."

The King chuckled and then blew on his tea. He addressed the Council, "Do try to relax. You have larger and more immediate problems."

"Larger… and more immediate problems," Kasia spoke slowly in the hopes that the emphasis would cross species lines and make it to the King, "in comparison to being eaten by orcs?"

"Yes, Kasia. You could be eaten by werewolves. They are considerably more likely to eat you alive than an orc would be. Or so I have seen of Men and orcs." He drank more tisane. His eyes shutting at the pleasant, lightly honeyed taste.

None of the Councilors spoke. In fact, very many men among the counters had marked ledgers and looked up at the King. It was no different among the Forces men listening overhead.

Cardoc Wence stepped in with a quiet, "There are… there are werewolves?"

"I counted forty," the King handed his empty cup over to Ewon. "Speaking of which, why do the lights of the Counting Room glow through the night?"

Kasia exhaled and fought to stay on track. He'd had the benefit of knowing about the many werewolves along the River Running for much longer than most of the Council here. Thus he could bring himself around to business quickly as a result. "Uh, yes, lights do burn here at night. Part of our problem, King. We are growing fast. And have had such an uptick in business that our accountants can't keep on top of it unless they work in shifts through the night. At the same time it is very difficult to find additional accountants who can be vetted to come work inside the building," he gestured at the metal-barred doorway and the bars on the windows, "getting security clearance to enter this room is difficult. We've had a message go out as far as Gondor, and interviewed several people. We will fix this issue, but it will take time."

The Elfking shut his eyes and exhaled. He pressed his fingertips to his forehead.

The bubbling pour of blackberry tisane, this time along a rolling tray for the Council as well, interrupted the sudden silence. The King looked pained as he stared up from the desks at his lozenge hanging overhead. Then he turned and lifted a cup of tisane from a saucer. He took a sip and set it back down, then his gaze fixed on the young serving girl. "What is your name, little one?"

"Shira." The girl blushed and put her hands on her cheeks. "Shira Webb, Elvenking. Have I angered you in some way?" She hunched as he took a gliding step toward her, magnificent in his long and voluminous robes, and shining with or without the intermittent sunlight through windows.

"Come with me, Shira-sell. All of you." In fact, he raised an eloquent hand as he turned, and that gesture took in all three young women. Lusis smiled, because the young women followed his broad shoulders and white blond hair as if drawn by magnets. His circlet winked in the sun.

His beauty was and always would be an intoxicant.

At an empty row of desks he opened a ledger. "Sit."

The girls sat along the desk curiously.

The King looked down at them. "As you are cleared to be inside of this room," he bent over the edge of the desk and his long, white blond hair spilled onto the ledger and into the sun, thus the room lit white-gold in that corner. "This column is tens, this hundreds, this thousands. Sign your names at the top." The King glanced across at one of the nearby men counters. "Sit with them. Teach them."

The worker's face went red with outrage, and he looked at Kasia, furious.

"Uh," Kasia exhaled, "Women are not… counters, my Lord."

"And whose fault is that?" The King's voice was mere millimeters short of acid.

"I doubt those useless heads can even count to ten!" sputtered the grey-haired man that the King had selected to teach the girls. "And they are unstable by their natures, weak-willed, they are untrustworthy. What will happen to them should they – gods forgive me – begin their cycles here? Weeping. Whining. Bleeding. And counting."

Nimpeth gave a soft hiss between her teeth, and Lusis said, "Keep it up and you'll be the one weeping, whining, bleeding and counting."

"Yes, it can be arranged," Ewon gave her his assurance. For no man was a bigger proponent of women than Ewon, who had so desperately wanted a daughter of his own.

"You have many problems, here," the Elfking's long body glided away from the desk and he told Kasia. "You have a problem of number, Kasia, and one of bias. You need able-bodied and sharp-minded humans in the midst of this expansion. You require these people to be trustworthy and to wish to see the good of these monies go to Lake Township – a goal easier to meet if Lake Township is also home, I assure you. And yet you have written off your ledger fully half of your possible candidates? Master of Boats, your weak-willed, untrustworthy, and unstable offspring stands beyond the door. If you do not teach her this business of yours then it can only be through a lack of love. You neither love her, nor her future here. If you hate half your own population, you do not love the future of my Kingdom on the lake. So, tell me, do you, or do you not love me?"

Silence.

Jan Kasia looked from Avonne in the outer room, to the King, and seemed suddenly ill.

The Elfking swept in above him, and his head leaned to the left, his silver eyes nearly swallowed by whites in the strong sunlight. "Do you love me and my Kingdom on the lake, Jan Kasia?"

"I… I do, Great King."

"Hire women." The Elfking said coldly. "Teach them. Train them. Retain them. So help me, you had best be schooling girl-children. If I must have this conversation again, I will begin it by instructing the sections whom amongst these backward men of yours to cart away to jail for slander, lest you forget that all on the Lake are mine. All. Do not waste the lives of my people."

He turned to the girls. "That will be all."

Two of the girls got up and returned to the service, but one of them, a small, dark girl with bright black eyes, remained. She pulled the ledger her way, picked up the stub of pencil, and printed her name at the top of the page. Then she waited.

The King swung slowly around and looked at the room.

A second counter, this one even older than the first, got to his feet and walked around his desk. He sat down with the girl. "I will count into a pile. And you will double-check me. It will be hard at first. You'll get faster with time." He patted her small hand. "Don't you fear about that, miss."

The King lifted his cup of tisane and swept out of the room.

Avonne hurried after him. She was very fond of ada-Thranduil.

He was a hero to her.

The town was constantly in motion. Even at night, work was being done.

And the Elfking was among the many moving around long into the moonlight hours. Lusis had let this pass by on the first night. She had soon taken up napping during part of the day so that she could follow him on the ground, just as the Elites skated across the rooftops of Lake Township. That was the problem of not trusting others. You didn't trust them, either, to protect the things most prized.

But there were some in her world that she could depend upon. She had her troop sleeping in shifts. Her Rangers had come to take protecting the King with mortal seriousness. That mood had readily infected both of Lusis' brothers. There was no surer cure for the doubt that afflicted their minds than seeing the clever and powerful Elfking set himself to the betterment of Men. In fact, it was everything that Kirstman Buckmaster said it couldn't be. It was the opposite of their gravest fears.

Tonight, the full moon skated high in the sunset sky, a white fingerprint in the blue, and it was clear the Elvenking was weary of being indoors. So it was they toured some of the waterfront businesses.

"Ice wine." Kasia told him.

The King's body shifted left to right. His silver eyes looked on the goblet, for once, both curious and innocent, in full view of the men who worked stacking barrels, and – for the very rich – crates of bottles. Kasia glanced over the Elfking's face and suppressed a smile. It was inexplicable that a creature so ancient could so suddenly remind him of a child. The paradox made him want to laugh and make the glass jump to see if the King would dart away like a cat.

Of course, that was insane.

And the Elvenking was wearing a ransom in silken clothes.

The King straightened. "It seems to be sweet."

"Not to elf tastes?"

Lusis glanced up from where she touched the King's hair back into place. "They aren't much for sweets." She caught herself and stepped back. The one thing she didn't want to do was fuss about him as if invisible, as she'd seen of his dressers before.

He glanced down at her and his tone changed to the one he reserved for his intimates, "Ai, is it passing inspection now, Lusis-sell?"

She turned her head away and laughed at herself, but then pulled herself under control. "Yes, my King." She started to bow to him, but he made a soft hiss.

"The day is too long, Lusis Buckmaster. Would you like to try some wine?" His pale hand made a graceful gesture that ended in him taking the goblet from Kasia, though it didn't look as if he would.

Like the Elfking, Lusis politely ignored that Kasia jumped when the King nearly touched him. But she held up a hand to forestall the goblet. "You can't dismiss it until you try it."

His brows went up. "Oh, can I not?"

"I'm sorry," she said without bowing.

"Perhaps you would like my circlet to wear along with that?" But he lifted the cup and gave it a sip. His eyelids did that brief fluttering she could not quite place – maybe it was surprise? He held out the glass, wide eyed, and said, "Oh."

A sudden, boisterous cheer sounded in the warehouse. The smiles of the workers delivering the wine for the shipping positively lit the structure, though the King, who had been prepared, and who had rehearsed among the Rangers, paid the surge of strong emotion no heed. They were proud of what they produced and he would not allow anyone to interfere with that. Men tried to offer Lusis a cup, but she waved it away. "I'm working, thank you."

"Send a bottle," Kasia laughed at the young men trying to press in around her. "Stop that, you little fools. Send bottles. Red and white, to the Keep, for the Elfking."

As the Elvenking turned, he spoke a stream of beautiful elvish to Nimpeth, just beyond him. The lights seemed to dim. He'd been pulled away to attend to a large and dauntingly official-looking stack of paperwork.

"What did the King say, Miss Elf?" asked one of the young men, eagerly.

Her pale eyes lit with humour, "Have them send a few." She added. "Please do. It will be recompensed."

Laughs rang out. They were clearly happy, and the King sipped the fresh, sweet wine as he glanced over documents, and, ultimately, rejected the lot of them. "Where do you find time for such long paperwork in such short lives? Shorten it. No more than five pages. Send it to Lord Eithahawn in the Halls." He set down the cup and made for the broad and wide open doors of the warehouse.

"He's immortal," Lusis told the Council scribes in passing, "not bored."

Half a section seemed to suddenly leap into the doorway. Ewon's body twisted on the way down from the rafters so that he faced the King. "Not this way. Strange riders are coming."

"Number them."

"Twenty."

The King's sword came out in a blur. "Hostile?"

"It is not known. They are armed, my King, significantly so." Ewon set a hand on the King's breastplate and pushed. "They are close."

The wind lifted his pale-as-paper hair from his breastplate and its lengths caressed air under the crisp moon. There were still many citizens abroad. They lit lamps and sold wares, still. The King looked down at the hand on his breastplate and conceded. He backed up before the light pressure of that palm until such a time as he could pivot himself and follow Ewon to Amathon, who was coming in from the side facing the docks.

Nimpeth glanced at Lusis. "Go, friend-Lusis. Stay with him."

She looked at the elves around her. "They probably want nothing to do with us, friends. Let them pass if you can." She started in the direction of the King. His tall head, encircled in Mithril, ducked through a doorway and she could hear horses approaching. She paused – the clopping of hooves came to sudden order. She turned and went back to Nimpeth. "I was wrong. If they reach for weapons, cut them down."

She turned to find the humans scurrying behind boxes and the Elfking coming back her way.

Then the horses arrived. Through the great double-doors of the warehouse, it was a sight to see. They rode until they were side-on to the large doors, with their horses staggered. Then they turned them. They might have charged in. There was little to stop them.

As they looked in on her, Lusis' elf-steel sword lashed out of its sheath. "This is King's land. Explain yourselves."

The horses in the fore shifted at the spur of her voice.

One of the men on a forward horse snickered, "Buckmaster women."

Argus Samas' voice rose up from their flanks. "You'd best not make her angry, lads."

Forces started to edge in around them. Like the remaining section of elves outside the building, but out of sight, the Forces had their bows leveled at these newcomers.

"On your left and right," Steed came in from the docks. She glanced at Aric's grunt of agreement. Whatever they'd been busy doing, they'd left it behind to run to the aid of the King. They both had swords out naked in their hands.

Lusis felt her breathing level out. She flexed her knees enough to feel they were ready and asked. "Why are you here?"

One of the men in front folded his hood back from his handsome head. He was ragged, with his thick hair as long as any elf's might be, and his light blue eyes wily. He had a long, vicious scar on his forehead. It ran down through his eyebrow and ended just above his eyelid. "You do know me… don't you Lusis?"

"You should listen to Ranger Samas when he says," she brought her sword around, "You do not want to make me vexed."

"Of course I don't." He released the reins he held, and raised his tanned hands before him. "That is not my purpose in coming here, Lusis."

"This boar's-bollock thinks he knows you," Icar grumbled as he arrived on Steed's right. "And he's making me angry."

"Ah. The Awnson boys. Sons of an absent father and a drunken mother," he smiled in an unfriendly way. "She tried to drown the eldest boy. Too many mouths to feed and… she disliked him. They say he was never quite right again… after that."

"Lusis," Icar, the youngest of the pair of brothers in her troop, now spoke through his teeth. "Do something about him, or I'm going to start doing something about him."

Aric snapped, "How do you know us?"

Lusis sucked a deep breath, "Bregoln Fell… master of Dagnir-Rim, the Blockade at Angmar."

"Oh, very good." Said the man. "Kirstman told me you'd ridden South with elves. I thought Rivendell… but when I reached the foothills from the mountains Tatharion House had the most astonishing tale for me. You… travelling with a tall, silver elf identified," he glanced at Nimpeth beside Lusis, as if she might betray the truth, "as the Elvenking of the Halls. Is this true?"

"I owe no explanations to you," she told him. "Why have you come all this way, Bregoln. We-"

"And then I heard amazing tales at Inns along the way to the forest. A growing city of Men… led by a King who was also elf-blooded. Like in Gondor, they said. Like Elessar – a Dunedain. 'Surely Lake Township will prosper'. But they do not understand. This is no man of elf-blood leading Men. It is nothing that wholesome. This being is from the beginning of time. Ancient. He has breathed since before daylight came to this land. He has lived in perpetual half-light, like animals live. He's an old elf, Lusis, as cunning as a labyrinth. But he is primordial. And I came to understand he had ridden away with you, like a dragon does a virgin."

"Oh, you are… really misguided." Aric patted air with his free hand and a knowing nod.

"Shut up," Lusis said to Aric in an urgent aside, and then exhaled. "Bregoln, what are you doing here? I have no intention of marrying you."

Kasia, who was still beside the crates, now sputtered, "Marry? Are you…? Wait, man. Do you not understand that this is the woman of the Elfking? The Elfking of Mirkwood?"

Lusis felt herself frowning, "No. No, I'm free… and I'm not-"

"Indeed, she's not at all," said Bregoln. "She is my betrothed, promised to me when she was ten years old."

Now Kasia's incredulous smile failed him, and he looked across at Lusis. He had come to a great affection for the Buckmaster girl. She had some appallingly brutal behaviours… and some parts of her he greatly hoped to one day see reflected in his own daughter.

He didn't like, suddenly, the idea of Lusis, as just a gangly, thin-armed girl, traded away.

The light rising behind Kasia was the Elvenking. He glided from the back and passed elf and Man alike, until he reached Lusis' side. "Why do you delay?"

She started to look in Bregoln's direction, but the King shifted his weight and his chin rose. Lusis stopped moving, stepped back, and inclined her head to him. When she looked up she said, "There… there is no reason."

Though she didn't give him attention, Bregoln of Dagnir-Rim grimaced when she said as much. His horse shifted under the change in his demeanor.

"It is forgiven," said the Elfking.

"You are promised to me, Lusis Buckmaster." Said the warrior. He spurred his horse ahead, but it refused to go. In fact, Steed stepped up, opened his arms out before him, and the horses peeled off in either direction, heedless to the efforts of their riders to control them.

The King took Lusis into the back. They went across the dock, escorted not just by forces, but by the other half of a section – led by Amathon. Her Rangers didn't follow her, being occupied, like half the section of elves, with defending both the door and a small fortune in wine, against a potential charge of warhorses.

When they reached Kasia's properties, the King stopped. But Lusis kept walking. This thing her well-meaning father had done for her – for an outcast girl – when she'd been a child, had been meant to bring two powerful warrior clans together, for the purpose of assuring there would always be a place for Lusis in the world. Even if many of her 'brothers' could not accept her. Through the blood of the Fell clan, she would finally be counted as one among the Dunedain. She'd never thought about it. Her life had become this other thing. She looked at her hands, and wondered if she was finally up against a truss that she couldn't escape.

She passed the King's Tree, going into the green field.

Lusis was not surprised that, when she turned, the Elfking was only steps behind her, his arms crossed at his back. She walked away from the Elfking, stuck her hands on her hips, and kicked a length of fallen tree before her.

"He wants power over the Keep." The Elfking was still and calm.

But Lusis was busy rendering the fallen tree to kindling and thought she might have misheard him, so she hissed, "What did you say?" It came out sharper than she had intended. And rudely.

It was a rare thing for the King of Mirkwood to repeat himself. "The man wants power over Buckmaster Keep."

She turned to him and spoke between her teeth. "Then he should marry Kirstman."

His head tipped right. "Ah. Shrewd. Do humans allow such in contract or in oath?"

Now Lusis brushed away seeds from the tall grass from her leather, and just looked at him, gormless to his meaning. He took that as No. She watched the King's head bow in thought. His moonlight fingers joined behind his long back, "Options…." and he glanced up at her, "Can you not… tell him No?"

She actually laughed. "He'd go to war with my Keep and all of Buckmaster Spur."

The King's chin rose, "Eithahawn can draw the paperwork to file an indefinite abeyance."

"Do a what?" Lusis cocked her head and it was the decidedly quick human motion, devoid of hypnotic elven meaning.

He took from that the idea humans could not suspend or nullify their coupling-contracts. The King moved on to the next logical suggestion. "Void the contract on the grounds… there is another mate, or contract-holder before-"

"Do elves… contract marriage?"

"Sometimes, something like," he withdrew from her marginally. This was clearly one of those topics that elves did not discuss with outsiders. She could tell this easily. His voice became quiet. "Friend-Lusis, one… one will always love a child. Always. Ewon drew up a contract with Nimpeth's emel, her mother, to bring him a daughter of his own. He is also the father of Merilin, but their agreement said that the child's mother could keep a son. There are many reasons." He bowed his head and was quiet. When he looked at her again, his eyes flashed with pride. "Ewon is but steps away, by the silver branches of the tree. Do not repeat this confidence lightly. Children are a serious thing – nearly everything – to elves."

She exhaled, suddenly growing calm. "Of course. Of course they are." She thought about it a moment. "I'm a human. It's very unlikely anyone would contract with me."

"I would order it be done." The King said. "You could pair with Eithahawn. He would do this for love of your safety. I am sure. I will allow you to choose whomever makes you most comfortable, in fact. It is not… sound to force a woman. It is atrocity. I will not stand by and allow this."

She exhaled. "We could try this thing. I don't… know that it would matter to Dagnir-Rim. I think they would go to war. What else do you have in that handsome head of yours?" She caught what she'd said to him and stared fixedly at the ground, apparently having lost control of her inner filters. He wasn't a man in her troop.

But the King was accustomed to praise. He gave it no notice as his silver eyes swept the growing night and stars studding above. "You could renounce the family name."

She looked up at him, "Would you renounce your father?"

He reacted as if slapped – his head went quickly left and down. He shut his eyes. The King's recovery was just as swift when his head tipped slowly up from his shoulder to take her in. "I would not." He said each word distinctly. "But… there is one last ploy, Yellow Istari."

"Which is?"

"War."

She shut her eyes. "I told you-" but then she stopped. Slowly, Lusis raised her head to take him in. The Elfking was unsmiling, but his head was up and his expression was unyielding.

"It…" she refused to speak.

"Think, Lusis. Kirstman Buckmaster foments dissent and disorder in the North. There is another leader for the Men of Buckmaster Spur. Kirstman Buckmaster need only be refuted."

"Which could only happen… if the elves came to fight beside us."

"We need no alliance with Buckmaster Keep." The King's hair shifted in the rising bite of wind. Even this far into autumn, seeds spilled out into the breeze, for the land that the King had claimed teemed with life. Even now, bees strafed toward their heavy hive, and blue Morning Glories turned their faces to the moon. "But out of alliance with you – an alliance already forged – we would repel this man and his brutes from the Spur."

"I don't want… to cause losses among the people I love. Man or elf."

"Yes, you are good," said the Elfking's steely voice. "But I am practical… and in my mind, the decision is already made." He gave a soft incline of his slim and powerful body. "Istari, we will try a contract, and, in secret, we will brace for war. You are no man's thrall."

She walked up to him, arms crossed, unsure what she would do next.

She looked at him a moment. Then Lusis slung her arms around his breastplate so that her hands collected in his long hair at his back. She went in so hard that she hurt her chin against elf-steel, then turned her cheek and laid it against the fire only her eyes could see. The white light curled up around her jaw, and flickered against her eyelids.

The King's hand rose to rest, lightly on her shoulder and she stepped away.

"Maybe we shouldn't speak about it," she told him and then looked away and down. "For now, I don't want to speak about it."

"You are worn and this news is unwelcome, Yellow Istari." He turned his body toward Kasia's house and glanced back over his shoulder. "There are other pursuits."

She followed him and spared a glance for Ewon's trim shape as his shadow parted from the Silver Beech. He followed the King. She could not see Nimpeth or Amathon. Generally speaking, this meant they were closer still.

They arrived at the white courtyard – a stroke of genius really, as the moon lit it up so that any approach was patently evident – and Dorondir waited just inside the shadow of the main building of Kasia's business.

The Elfking saw him long before Lusis had.

"There was some disruption at the sixth pier?" the elf-spy asked. "Are… are you both well?"

The King ignored this outburst of curiosity, "Tell me how the Lord fares."

Dorondir bowed, "Ready, my King. Glorfindel is girding him against the weather."

"Excellent news."

The city was more clotted with people than ever before. Lusis noted this when she went inside with him, and he went up to his room. She paced in the hallway and watched elves glide after the King.

Redd came out, groggy. He spent most of the early morning and daylight hours on patrol, and liked to fall into bed after supper. The coming and going of elves – though quiet – had been enough to wake him up. He blinked at Lusis. "Is the King all right?" His face changed as he looked her over. "Are you all right?"

She pulled him aside. "Do you remember Bregoln Fell of Dagnir-Rim?"

"The name is… familiar," he rubbed an eye. "The surname is, of course, legend. The Fell Family. The Chiefs among the kinsfolk known as the Men of the Peaks. They cover the terrain at the border with Angmar's traditional territory. Pitiless warriors. They're sometimes called The Living Wall? Did you know they picked up the name 'Fell' during the Second Age? During the Midwinter Assault, Angmar felled every wall between their Kings and Dagnir-Rim in one night?"

"And the first family of Fell rallied all, and were undefeated," Lusis nodded up at Redd. "I know."

He yawned into a cupped hand, "Why are you speaking of them now?"

"Twenty of their number rode into Lake Township earlier today, on the lowlands warhorses they use for troop movements."

"Those beasts are amazing!" Redd brightened at their mention, and stuck up a fingertip, "It is said that the horses of the Men of the Peaks can count."

"Maybe they can, they listened to Steed, I swear, like a troop of eight year olds." She glanced up the hall and nodded at Dorondir's return before she glanced up at Redd. "More importantly, Bregoln is under the impression – a not misguided impression – I'm his betrothed. And he's come to get me and bring me back to the North with him. Very possibly to Dagnir-Rim."

Redd's eyes opened in surprise for a moment. But he said nothing and heard her out. Finally, he set a hand on her shoulder and said, "Poor lad."

"You're certainly calm," she said uncomfortably.

"There are Forces of Lake Township, four troops of Rangers, un-numbered sections of elves, a Kingdom, and a King, between Bregoln Fell and your hand, Lusis Buckmaster. That's without mentioning that two of your brothers are with you, and, most seriously of all, you don't want him." He rustled her hair. "If one pup from the Fells has enough pluck to overthrow you, Lusis-Istari, I'll eat my axe."

She gave him a crooked smile. "Might want to strap that on, Redd. I have a bad feeling about events in this place."

"Duly noted, Chief." He glanced up at Dorondir's approach. "Lemme get that axe right now."

Now Lusis turned to face the tall, dark-haired Noldor. His bright green eyes never wavered from her. She exhaled, "I really don't agree with taking the Elflord out there, Dorondir. It's dark, chilly, it's been damp at night, and he's unwell."

"It is not for us to say," he told her patiently.

"You're quick to accept the danger of it," she squeezed her hands on her hips, unsure how she felt about this. "Is it years of spying, or having no single master that makes you so at peace with this?"

He laid a hand over his heart and said, "It is trust."

Lusis turned away with her brows drawing up. She hadn't seen that coming. When she glanced out of the upper windows she could see two men shoulder-to-shoulder crossing the white stones below. They walked with long, ground-eating surety, and looked powerful. The darkness had obscured them, but as they came into the light of the Keep she could see they were Aric and Icar, and she smiled, buoyed by the men they had become. Steed came with Elsenord and Remee beside him. He was far more slender than either of her huge brothers. They seemed to be involved in some serious discussion.

No question that she knew what the conversation was about.

They picked up speed and trotted toward the steps and into the house.

"Oh, I really don't want to do this," Lusis exhaled.

Dorondir glanced down at her, beside him, and his brow wrinkled. It was probably true that he couldn't follow the human sentiment behind her words. This was because elves had prescribed public interactions with their family members, in much the same way that they carefully contained their emotions. But then said to her. "Friend-Lusis, come with me. We shall see to the Lord of Rivendell."

She glanced up at him and could already hear her brothers coming in the large open hall below.

Dorondir's long eyes narrowed, his apple green gaze gliding toward the staircase.

She nodded at him. "You win this time, Dorondir."

Predictably, the door to the Elflord's chambers was wide open. The inside had been rearranged completely. It looked nothing like it had when she'd last been in here. The bed was pushed to a corner. All the drapes were drawn around it like a cube. The chairs had been removed. The bath had been pulled to angle on a corner that would catch the light from the door – elven modesty was not always as critical as elven comfort, it seemed. Books. There were stacks of books everywhere. And Lusis had known the Elvenking to have books around him, and to write something at the end of every day, but there were towers of them in here. Easy to see that Lord Elrond was housebound. The rest of the space was open for standing and pacing. The Lord was demonstrating the pacing in earnest as she walked into this very different room to what it had been.

His dark grey eyes found her. He looked so stern that she cringed. If the Elfking had appraised her that way, she would have found a task that would take her out on the land for a few days. Glorfindel glanced up from folding a green cloak, noticed Lusis, and gave his Lord what passed for an elven nudge.

The Elflord glanced aside at Glorfindel and the tall golden elf gave him that beauteous and pristine doll-face of their kind at the same time he inhaled and slowly straightened.

Only then did the Lord of Rivendell realize how grim his countenance had become. He lightened somewhat and inclined his head at the Istari. "It is… interesting to have you join me. I am accustomed to Mithrandir." He pivoted in his coat of dark violet and headed back toward the opposite wall. She watched his more moderated profile and tried to imagine what his daughter looked like.

Lusis shook her head, "No fireworks here, my Lord. I'm no true wizard."

He stopped and turned toward her as if she'd raised an alarm. "There is no doubt what you are, Istari. You are a wizard, your King can attest. My words have no bearing on it." He paused, his long eyes averting downward as he caught the edge of his dark robe. "Though I am glad of the lack of fireworks."

Of a sudden Lusis could imagine Mithrandir setting them off in Rivendell. She smiled. She swallowed back her smile.

Waspish Glorfindel took that moment to weigh in, "Understand that whenever Mithrandir comes to visit he brings appalling news – disastrous – so that the only countenance possible is one so serious that Lindir starts to fret it might shatter the stoneware." The blond glanced at Lusis favorably.

The Elflord couldn't contain his elven smile. His expression lightened to one of great roguishness as he walked to Lusis. "Yellow Istari, as wizards go, you're rather welcome."

"But I've brought dire news to the Elvenking before."

At this, Lord Elrond was forced to put his head down. When he did look at her, he was fighting very hard not to smile. "You give me reasons to like you better and better by the minute, friend-Lusis. Please come visit us in Rivendell. It is a place built in the open air near many beautiful waterfalls."

"It is lovely," Dorondir assured her from where he leaned against the wall a step or two behind her back. "You would like it there, I assure you."

Glorfindel glanced over her. "You are coming with us tonight?"

She nodded by way of answer and stepped up to the Elflord, "I'm worried about your wellbeing going abroad like this," her eyes diverted to the sudden flickering of low red-violet flame within him. "I will guard you, and be close, Lord of Rivendell. Is there anything you need before we go?"

"Maybe a favourite book?" Glorfindel teased.

Lord Elrond threw him a look that was both appreciative and self-satisfied. They were clearly very good friends, and had been for some time.

"Lusis," tall, blond Remee appeared in the doorway and strode straight in. Doors were left open among elves, certainly, but such an unbidden and uninvited approach was unheard of.

Dorondir had come off the wall to extend a delaying hand. "No, good-Buckmaster, this is the room of a Rivendell-"

"I don't care if it's the bedchamber of Elessar himself," said Remee and he made to push Dorondir aside. Lusis could have told him this wouldn't work. She expected the training that spies received would be little shy of the kind Elites endured. Dorondir moved quickly, and Remee found himself pressed to the narrow boards of the hall.

"You must care, friend-Buckmaster." Dorondir said this very calmly. "Inside is the Lord of Rivendell. That same who fought for the good of Middle-Earth, and whose actions brought the Fellowship together for the good of all."

The Lord Elrond exhaled. "Dorondir, let the human come to me."

The elf eased away and stopped beside Lusis.

Remee straightened his leather overcoat with a deft tug and a huff. He shot a hot look at the unhurried face of his youngest sibling.

Lusis' shoulders rose and fell, "I think I told you to keep a steady head in the presence of the elves, Remee?"

"Sister, I-"

"She's the Chief of your troop," Aric shoved Remee aside and strode in, "don't forget it." He made a wide gesture at the elves, "Uh, apologies, great elves of the waterfalls, or whatever you like to call yourselves, and wherever you hail from-"

"Oh," Elrond was roundly amused. "Well, thank you, young Ranger."

"Welcome," Aric exhaled and turned to Lusis. "Your boyfriend has withdrawn to the Flowers of the Forest to set up billet. Know where that is?"

"Where the aspens reach the wildflowers – the field," she turned toward the wall of Jan Kasia's property that represented the edge of town. "It's just next door." She set a hand over her middle.

Icar leaned on the doorway. "He seems serious, Chief. As it is, with twenty Men of the Peaks here, I'm not sure we could take him on our own."

Now Lord Elrond's head rose, "Men of the Peaks? Here?"

"You know who they are?" Icar asked, a little amazed that such a lofty elf would know anything about the Northern strongholds, and the warriors there. Redd, behind him, and blocking the light, gave Icar a smack in the back of the head. He gestured at the towers of books arrayed in the Elflord's accommodations and shook his head in disapproval.

"Easy on him," said Aric. "He's the good brother, for one thing, and, for another, I need all the scraps he keeps inside of his head."

Glorfindel stepped deeper into the room with a fighting knife spinning in one hand. "Then I invite you to take your brother and get out. We are busy."

Aric rocked back on his heels smilingly, and turned to Lusis, "Is he being serious?"

Given what she'd known of him so far, Lusis felt justified in saying, "I don't believe Glorfindel knows how to make a joke."

Redd moved aside and the Elfking swept in. He was covered, head-to-toe, in dark green cloak, and, with the hood up, only the lower half of his face and the trailing white-blond hair gave away his identity. Though his great height also helped. His voice purred with the shadows of irritation. "Glorfindel, put your fighting knives away. Do not be ill-mannered… unless you would prefer for the Rangers to be indecorous with you."

Aric actually grinned as the King swept by. Elsenord strode behind and nodded at Remee and Lusis in turn. He'd bypassed the room with Lusis in it, perhaps knowing he'd get nowhere with her. He'd gone to ask for the help and intervention of the King of Mirkwood. Now that great King took down his hood and his circlet blinked in the failing light.

"There has been a complication," the Elfking opened one book at the top of a pile and flipped through the text there. His brows went up. "Lusis Buckmaster – Istari – has been betrothed to a warrior of the North. The contract was drawn when she was ten years of age. She is bound by human law to uphold this agreement, and has no opportunity, again, by human law, to suspend or dismiss it."

Lord Elrond frowned. "This… would mean forcing her into congress with a male not of her choosing. That is a violation of the Natural Order."

Dryly, the Elfking shut the book. "I don't think Men care about that. I have seen enough to suggest that much. For the most part the laws and rules are different between men and women among these other Children of Eru."

The Elflord pinched the bridge of his nose and said, "Two sets of rules?"

"So it seems to my eye. She must enter into congress with this stranger, or, she assures me, it will be war." The Elfking replied.

"It will be war," Remee said hotly. "War before-"

"Silence," Glorfindel snapped at the Ranger.

Elrond set his hands on his hips and pivoted, as the King did, to look at Lusis. She was, for her part, trying not to sink into the floor. Was, in fact, trying to stand tall in spite of this embarrassing and ridiculous situation in which she'd found herself.

"I used to wonder, taur-Thranduil," the Lord spoke softly, and his eloquent hands joined behind his back, "why the Istari all came to Middle Earth in the forms of old men."

The Elfking's chin sank down toward the antler clasp of the long and dark green cloak he wore. "Wonder no more."

"Which leaves us with a problem," said the Lord. "She is hardly a piece on auction. The Lady Galadriel ventured to say this new creation is beyond the estimation of the elves. She must be free to choose her own fate and her own path – that is the way, and the privilege, of Istari." His dark grey eyes narrowed. "Tell me your plan."

"Plans." Dorondir inclined his head to his Lord. "My Lord, the Elfking never has but a plan."

"Oh, of course not," Lord Elrond exhaled slowly, and tried to hold his temper. "Why simply be straightforward, when one can seem to be straightforward, instead."

Dorondir added a quiet and rather admiring, "A few times. It encourages interpretation."

The Elfking shut his pale eyes and inhaled slowly. When he faced the world again, he said, "The night closes upon us, Lord Elrond."

Now Elrond made a nearly pained huff of amusement and pivoted to face Lusis. "You realize he is saying it would take too long to explain." The Elflord touched his forehead as if some great pain was building up between his brows, as he turned to face the Elfking again. "What are you doing?"

The Elfking's gaze averted with marvelous grace, down and left, "Perhaps be specific?"

"What are you doing for Lusis Buckmaster?" Elrond waited a heartbeat, and when the King did not stir, he added, "About this betrothal?"

The King's head rose, his face innocent, "Oh. Oh, that."

Lusis had to look at the floor for a moment. It was a mystery to her why she was so often torn between laughing out loud at his particular genius, and the feeling she ought to shake sense into him. She looked up to find all the elves in the room staring at her.

Slowly, all their heads swiveled to take in the Elvenking.

"I checked the extant laws – or Eithahawn did for a case he has in the Halls. Lusis Buckmaster must be seen to be in breach of contract due to a secondary claimant."

Remee and Aric nearly spoke at the same time, though to different Rangers. "What's that mean?"

The Elflord ignored them. "That would require she have a contract that either predated the one made when she was a child, or have a current mate."

"I agree," said the Elfking. His long, elegant fingers picked at the unraveled edge of a binding, "I believe that Eithahawn is discovering such a document in our holdings right about now."

The Elflord's brows rose. "Going upon the premise that you knew about her Istari nature at a much earlier date."

"Quite," said the Elfking. "I have it from Elsenord Buckmaster that she did not come into her family until her seventh year. Any number of contracts might have been created," his brows rose and he looked aside at Lusis, ruefully. "Any number before she was passed to her family. It is not simply theory. It is the… reality of her origins."

Lusis backed up a number of steps, her intention, at that moment, to get to the door and head outside. Winter. She estimated that would take the edge off her boiling hot humiliation. Instead, she backed into Dorondir and his hands caught her upper arms to steady her. She smelled night rain when he leaned over her shoulder, "You are blameless in this, Yellow Istari."

Right. She grounded herself. He was right. She'd been an infant and a little child. She stood her ground and said to them, "Not that I don't appreciate this, but whatever your plan, we need to head out while the night favours us, Elfking."

He stepped back and pulled up his hood. "Very well, Lusis Buckmaster. Follow me."

It took her no time to determine that the King, with his hair tucked back into the hood, and moving around in the drizzly rain as he was, had rendered himself invisible. Well, to anyone to whom he couldn't appear as a living pillar of fire. He was dressed like any elf in any Mirkwood section, complete with the quiver and bow he carried. Lord Elrond, like the other elves, was now draped in a cloak of the same make. He wore the thick blue cloak underneath, for warmth.

The King led them all into the streets. He looked up at the rain, and it redoubled its efforts.

Aric fell in beside her. She was cloaked in the black leather of Rangers, as was he. "Who is the big guy going to contract you to?"

"I don't know."

"How can you not know?"

The Elfking brought them deeper into the heart of a downpour that was clearing the streets around them, "She will choose."

"I'd do it," said Icar.

"Unacceptable," said the Elflord quietly.

Icar shot a sharp look at the man.

"Forgive me, friend-Ranger." The Elflord said in explanation. "I meant to say there would be no document in the Elfking's holdings if she had been betrothed to a Ranger of the North. She must be intended to an elf."

"A Mirkwood elf," said the Elfking. "Perhaps, given that she is an Istari, my son."

"Which one?" Glorfindel asked.

"Not necessarily so," said the Lord Elrond, "And Men of the Peaks have no knowledge of which among us is Mirkwood and which not. We may as well say Glorfindel. He is a good match for her."

"I refuse to entertain-"

"I thought she would be the one to choose," said Glorfindel pointedly. "Is there some doubt that I can safeguard her?"

"None at all," said the Elvenking, "my doubts arise from the reasons the Elflord may have offered you to begin with."

Lord Elrond's lips pursed, "Lindir." His chin dropped toward his chest.

"No. She doesn't even know him," said the Elfking. "I might as well pair her with Merilin Ewonion. She knows his face, but that is the extent of her familiarity with him." He exhaled mistily, "Lindir…. You must really want to secure her for your own."

"The way you want to keep her," Lord Elrond actually smiled. "This is entertaining, oh rebellious King who pays heed to none. Shall I propose that you pair her with Eithahawn? He is kind. She knows him." The Elflord fell in, shoulder-to-shoulder, with the taller Elfking.

"Not Legolas," Glorfindel said. "You couldn't find him for one thing."

"That makes it an easier pairing, in fact." The Elfking said sharply.

"Easier to contest," Elsenord sighed on the end of that. "He would not be present to make a claim on her – foolish as this sounds to me now – and so his claim would be considered defunct." Elsenord set a hand on the back of his neck. "Fires. This is barbaric."

Lusis, on the edge of these machinations by choice, looked at Dorondir, beside her. "Don't you want to throw your own name into this fray, spy of Rivendell?"

His glance found her in the gaslight above them, and glinted peridot. "Ah, yes. I cannot offer myself to you for your succor. I am of no importance, Lusis Buckmaster." His chin dropped in quiet acceptance of this. His pale eyes averted at the stone of the roadway a moment, but then returned to her again.

She walked, fixed on their particular warm green for several steps.

"Such a mysterious gaze," his lashes did sudden elven staccato as he turned away. "Your eyes are a boundless darkness, Istari."

She had large, black eyes. Check. Every elf mentioned it after a while.

And then he added, "Perhaps it is from witnessing endless traverses. But even stars are satisfied in their reflection." His voice was wistful.

Other elves had pointed out how fascinating black eyes were to their kind, but after a few more steps, Lusis pulled her cloak more tightly around her and stepped deeper into the Noldor spy's rain-shadow. Somehow he said it differently.

The large group of them – Rangers and elves – broke apart as they left the waterfront. The King and the Elflord went along the main street with Glorfindel, Dorondir, and Ewon, the last of whom had just arrived among them. The Rangers did as the Forces did, and spread out across the city. Lusis paused in the street with her troop before they all took separate courses.

"Doing what?" Aric spat into the rain.

"Looking for the fount of the evil that marked them both," she said just above the hiss of the rain. She opened her hand between them all. "They discovered they both bear a small rounded burn mark on their hands. Raised at the edges." She pointed at her palm below her index finger, "The King had a burn here – now healing." She slid her finger to the pad at the base of her thumb. "The Lord's burn is here, and is much more pronounced."

"And you said it has to do with dragon's blood?" Elsenord's head tipped to one side.

"Apparently so. The King was burned after killing six such," Lusis' head rose because she was unaccountably proud of him. She reined the emotion in and her chin slowly dropped, nearly in elf fashion, toward the nest of her throat. "The Elflord, though, had no contact with dragons, and there seems to be a much more treacherous means behind his poisoning."

"And you say that a Northern man delivered that missive?" Remee pulled a face and leaned in among them. "I wonder about the arrival of the Men of the Peaks."

"You aren't alone in that," muttered Redd.

"Really. And here I believed they came to return their library books," Aric exhaled heavily at the pair of them. "Halfwits. We're going to need to keep an eye on the movements of that band. Even if they're wholly innocent, they're too dangerous to be left without men around them."

"Forces can do that, lad," said Redd quietly. "The King is abroad in the middle of the night."

Lusis looked at the pillar of light in the middle of the street. "Do you think he needs us to protect him?" She chuckled at that. "I think he forgets every living thing when he's in the midst of a fray. What isn't a blur of steel and mayhem looks glorious, but it's terrifying."

There was silent assent among them, even from Aric, who was most likely to make light of things. However, his only comment was a hushed, "Four Ages, he's been killing like that." His voice held a note of awe.

"And what are they doing to find it?" Elsenord asked. "Why are we in the middle of a human town? Doesn't this seem an unlikely place?"

"Evil hides in many places," Redd exhaled a puff of mist with his head turned to take in the King and small number of elves around him. "It was a worm in the heart of the Mark once, and took a seat beside the throne of Edoras. This is one of the fastest-growing towns of Men in the North, or, I'd venture, anywhere. And why not? It sits at the feet of one of the greatest gold mines in this world. Why wouldn't the enemy live here?"

"There's certainly been a change in mood in this place," Icar told his brother. "Don't tell me you haven't noticed how much wilder, how much darker, this place has grown."

"Well he is a bit empty-headed," Remee said affectionately.

Aric frowned, "Stick to abusing your little brother, you."

Lusis snickered, "It's a dark day when you can't get a rise out of an Awnson." She reached out and clapped a hand to Aric's shoulder and then smoothed her cloak in the rain. "I'm with the King. Please keep a perimeter. I'm not sure what they've been-" a thought struck her. "He pulled a Mithril chain from among the orcs who attacked us. It has the stamp of one of Thrain's forges – the Sounding Forge."

Redd's eyes widened. "Yes. They operated out of the Blue Mountains after," he looked North East, "after they were driven out of Erebor." Now the great Ranger looked down at Lusis. "I bet there are heaps of Mithril in that mountain with the stamp of the Sounding Forge."

She exhaled. "I bet you're right. And where else would an Orc get a chain like that one?"

Everyone looked North East at the great Lonely Mountain. From where they stood, the large gaslight at the gate glowed through the rain like a beacon, its flame a sign that the mountain was now protected from raiders by armies of Men and… and whom? Elves? Unlikely.

Redd said, "Did… did you know The Final Treaty of Erebor specified that the mountain fall under the joint protection of Men and Dwarves. Unlike the Second to Final Treaty of Erebor that, in fact, did specify that Hobbits and-"

Remee nodded at Redd, "My feet are getting wet. Come to a point, librarian." He smiled.

"Right," Redd pushed out a breath and looked at the King, "The Elves wanted no part of it. Which is to say, the Elvenking of Mirkwood, and our King, wanted to wash his hands of the Lonely Mountain and its riches. The mountain was neglected for part of an Age, it was so poisoned by Dragon Sickness and despair. So it is the property of Men and Dwarves."

"I don't think Orcs made the list," said Elsenord quietly.

"Yeah?" Aric looked into the rain, "I doubt a nest of giant snakes would make the list either. Didn't slow them down any."

Lusis remembered creeping into that place with the King and Redd… the stillness, the greatness, of the mountain's bones around her, and she felt its deeps in her nerve-endings for a moment. Smaug had been great and terrible, yes, but the mountain was greater and most terrifying of all. Its hollows, uncounted and unsounded, rang in the human imagination. "There are halls in that place, I swear to you, so deep, so far, no Man has seen them. No Man could understand them. At the bottom of that well, in the lowest, darkest rooms and crevasses, are places that can only be comprehended by the minds of Dwarves. Their different minds. The Elfking knows this. He recognized it, as he recognized the taint on the place when he first went in, Ages ago. But those deep, dark spaces are more numerous than a number of Men or Dwarves could ever plumb."

Elsenord's eyes widened. "You sound like you've been inside."

The rain thickened, rippling over rooftops, and Lusis nodded dully. "It is not for the meek."

"And those deep places are inaccessible," Redd shifted the axe across his chest, under his oiled leather cloak, and looked at Lusis, "if the Men and Dwarves can't look past the Counting Room. Even the King struggled to keep focus. The gemstones… they lit with white fire and listened to him breathing."

Remee's eyes widened in dismay. "Fires." His lips curled. "It's full of ghosts then. A cursed place." He could see Lusis' agreement on her solemn face.

But now Redd added, "And, Lusis, if that elf you told me of – Lethroneth – found another way into that mountain, there may be other passages. Maybe… fissures in stone."

"There is a way," Lusis said. "Snakes could fit through it."

The King's voice floated over her shoulder, "Istari."

She turned to look at him, and her breath caught. He was a tall, slender pillar of starlight against the dark and distant titan, Erebor. Lusis pulled air, slowly, to steady herself. She so often saw him like this, now: fixed within a soaring span of his personal light whose shimmering brightness stretched into the heavens. Ever since she'd breathed life into his flame.

Her eyes widened a little, and she looked first at the puddled stone, and then at her troop. "I'm with the King. Be sharp tonight. Protect him. Protect us."

Aric nodded at her, "You never have to ask, Chief." Beside him, Icar took out his blade in a swift lash of baleful light, to answer her question, and inclined his head to her. Redd did nothing but straighten, but that was more than enough at his size. Likewise, both tall and sturdy Buckmaster boys were suddenly solemn.

The King began to turn away from them, but he paused to say, "You do us honour, Rangers of the North. Among the edhel, nothing is forgotten." He passed out from under the gaslight in a riffle of dark green cloak, almost invisible before he drifted into silhouette under another. The gliding shadow of Ewon pulled to a halt beside her.

He glanced over the Rangers genially, and then asked, "Friend-Lusis, will you accompany me?"

Lusis turned and loped after the King, side-by-side with the Silvan Elite.

"What is the method?" she asked Ewon.

"By which the King tracks the taint?" Ewon asked her.

She nodded and dropped her head against waves of rain. "Yes, just so." She was increasingly worried for Elrond, whose fire was a mere ember-glow in the cold downpour. If she'd had it her way, he would be tucked in front of a fire right now. No. She realized as she drew up on him, he'd be in the Halls of the Elvenking, warm, safe, and healing – standing somewhere and reading amid his own sunset-coloured pillar of light. That was where he'd be.

"I haven't worked out how it is done," said the Elite. "There is some sense they share, friend-Lusis. And this is the main reason why there must be so many elves on this foray."

She felt her dissatisfaction on her face, and smoothed her profile studiously, lest she insult or distract the elf. "Is there anything you can tell me?"

"We are aware of strange and flickering lights across the sky in the night." He said softly. "The Men hereabouts are said to believe they are haunted by the spirits of elves lost at Erebor. But that is not possible for the spirit of an elf, which is quick to the shores of Valinor." His sleek head turned fractionally. "The King collects such reports."

She was mollified by this. Having been freely handed the information, she had no idea where it fit, or what to do with it. Instead, she stared at the bright King before her. She would have bet against her father's Keep that he already had a theory.

The tall King and the much-diminished Lord stood speaking. She thought this was, perhaps, because it was clear that the Lord was flagging – his dark head was down and he pressed one pale hand to his chest. Glorfindel stood close, his attention set on Elrond as if no one else was remotely present, such was his great loyalty. Dorondir glanced between Lord and King, assiduous and prepared. But all the elves were greatly disturbed by the weakness of the Lord. They revealed it in small ways that Lusis was only just learning to see.

The Elfking extended a graceful hand, the gesture slow and gorgeous. He laid his palm against the Lord's bent shoulder and Lusis watched the behavior of the fires within the pair of them change. The pillar-like aura around the Elvenking intensified. For a moment, the flames inside Elrond bucked and sputtered from low violet to a glorious flare of burnished red-gold – a sunrise of fire. Lusis' bright yellow starpoint flared in time with them and she gasped.

Dorondir half-turned her way at the sound of her sudden inhalation. "Friend-Lusis?"

"I'm well," she covered the light at the base of her throat and looked up at the long hand he extended to her. Ewon stepped between them and he nearly touched her arm out of concern. But she stepped aside, busy watching what passed between Lord and King, and neither acknowledged a weakness of her own, nor revealed how very grateful she was for Ewon's fatherly concern. It was something she'd feared she'd never see in any man, again.

Then the wind came up. It was blind, angry, and abrupt. The fire of the King withstood it easily, but Lord Elrond crumpled. His fire of sunrise flagged, the skies in him dimmed. This happened with an unnatural motion she'd never witnessed of elf's fire. It blew toward the front of his limber body, where it waggled as it tried to maintain contact with Thranduil's furnace-chest, and he sagged.

Glorfindel had him immediately. His dark grey eyes blinked, dull, nearly insensible.

Lusis bared her teeth and stomped forward through the puddles and pouring rain.

The Elfking glanced toward her and straightened, his eyes widening. "Ewon. Dorondir. The Istari."

"No, friend-Lusis," Ewon hurried into her path. "The Lord Elrond is ceaselessly brave. He must endure-" she went around him.

Dorondir took one look at her and sort of tackled her. He, at least, saw that she wouldn't be reasoned with. "Friend, if we do not catch this foe now and by this means, the Lord will not suffer, he will perish. Listen to me. Lusis, listen."

She pulled herself together and stopped taking a position that would more easily allow her to fight the elf. Instead, she looked up at his great, unblinking green eyes. "I hear you. Forgive me. Let me go." His arms loosed her slowly, and he eased away.

"Well done," the King said. His silver eyes swept from their measure of Lord Elrond, down to the stone road, and then rose up to take Lusis in. She saw, in his gaze, many complex things. His head bent back, and that trained motion sealed everything away. "What did you see? Tell me."

Lord Elrond had recovered himself and now turned to look at her. She saw that his dark brows were pressed upward in the middle of his brow-line, which was telling. His elven discipline barely able to conceal his fatigue and distress. To her eye, he appeared so young that way. She could see how he might've looked as a child. Lusis wouldn't see him laid low by an enemy.

She turned to the King, "The fire of him grew to where it should always be. That was when you laid a hand on him." Seeing that, Lusis thought touch couldn't be a bad thing among the elves, as she had assumed. A rare thing wasn't necessarily also a bad thing. She wiped rain from her face, "But that hated wind struck him and so went the progress you'd made."

His head cocked. All feeling and expression was lost in the dark fold of his hood.

"I… I mean that your white fire reached to him," Lusis spoke privately, but in case it needed explanation. After all, these fires were something elf eyes couldn't see. "It reached like a friend. That's how his flame climbed up again. Maybe it's a matter of long comradery between you. Maybe it is the same force by which elves heal others – I'm not aware. You helped and the winter wind wiped that away." She turned her head to the South East and bared her teeth. "Thief."

She missed that the direction of the King's gaze followed hers. He paused to watch the sky, even though Lord Elrond made a sudden puff of amusement. "Oh, is this what it is like to have, ever beside you, an Istari so young and so green, Elfking of Mirkwood? Her small observations are little miracles."

Lusis watched the Elfking's hooded head avert to wet stone. The line of his cherry petal lips was grim. She sucked a deep breath and crossed to stand before him, but the Elfking ignored her. His voice rumbled, "What direction, Lord Elrond?"

"Just as she turned," said the Elflord, and some of the resonant beauty had returned to round out his voice. "South and still further East."

Lusis looked into his chest and saw that not all progress had been lost. But she had to close her hands together behind her back to resist touching that valiant tongue of flame.

They went South East, away from the mountain that both fascinated and frightened her. They repeated this test three more times, but at irregular intervals. The Elvenking and Elflord were being careful to conceal their activity. The tests were, for that reason, random. But by the last, it was clear the Lord Elrond could weather no more. He sank to his knees in the small and nameless avenue, pounded by descending arrowheads of rain. Glorfindel immediately folded down over his Lord. Lusis struggled with the blazing yellow starpoint at the base of her throat. Her blood whispered to help the Lordly elf, pulled like the tides by the moon. In the deep parts of her mind, she knew how. But Ewon held her hand on one side, and Dorondir held the other.

"We passed it," the Lord panted. "It is South… and West."

Glorfindel took off his cloak and covered his Lord with it.

True to his word, when Lord Elrond could struggle no more, he toppled into unconsciousness. It was then that the Elfking intervened to carry him.

Lusis squeezed elven hands and averted her gaze as the Lord passed. They waited until the King was nearly out of sight. Her sight. She had no doubt they could still easily see him. They released her and Lusis set off walking between them. After a moment, she glanced over her shoulder South and West.

The flickering light didn't tremble to life in the high darkness until her head had turned away.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

She started her morning in the upstairs hall, drinking hot cider and eating dates rolled in crushed nuts. They were something the elves took great interest in. Lusis wasn't familiar with them, but thought they tasted amazingly good, particularly dipped in honey. The elves cleaned up platters of them. Like Kasia, they often had these treats brought in during the winter. She glanced when Steed came up the stairs. The top floor of Kasia's Keep had a wall of thick glass windows that shone in on a wide promenade. She sat on the rug with her back to the wall directly underneath them.

Food had been set out on tables near the stairs. The low buzz of the elven section currently in from the weather filled the air with what Lusis felt was a reassuring noise. It was startling how well Steed fit with them. He was like someone's little cousin, drifting among them, and he spoke to a few of them in bursts of Sindarin, which put the cagey elves at greater ease.

An elf scooped tea into a goblet for Steed, and handed it over before he joined her. He sank down on his knees and sat on his heels, so hauntingly elf-like. He handed her the tea. "Is the floor enough for you, Chief?"

"Elves," she sipped gratefully, and clarified, "no chairs."

He nodded, "I know." He laughed and the human sound drew the attention of elves through the entire upstairs space, but Steed didn't mind it. "They're different, and we respect it, and they will respect us the same. You need to learn to ask for a chair."

She grinned guiltily. "I do."

The elves began to go back to their own conversations. Lusis sobered. Her voice became quiet as she questioned him, "Where was he last night?"

"You were right. He did go out."

Lusis inhaled and looked down the long hall toward Dorondir. He had just emerged from the room closest to the staircase. His hair was unbound, wet, and not even braided. He glanced her way and inclined his head in respectful greeting.

Steed looked from her to Dorondir and his eyes narrowed minutely. "Ah. Well. I thought I should warn you that he ranged well into the city. I've only been back since shortly before dawn."

"Why so long? We've been back for six or seven hours."

At that point, Steed glanced at the chamber of the King. His eyes came back to her as he noted, "We passed you twice."

"The section head said as much." She pushed her damp hair back behind her shoulders and sipped tea. "Could it be he doesn't believe the sections in the area would be aware of his movements?"

"I doubt it," Steed shook his head. "I believe he thinks we watch and follow him all the time."

"Accurate," she felt her brows rise. "The King made him my responsibility."

"Your responsibility went to the foothills of Erebor last night, and pondered the Lonely Mountain. He has asked about it. He is curious. Apparently, some news of it came to him from the elves heading to the West. When he came too close, the Dwarven guards turned him back with a volley of spears."

She blinked at Steed for a moment. She set her cup aside. Lusis got to her feet and hurried down into the main hall. There were smaller rooms on the bottom floor, little more than cells in a narrow and windowless passageway. The elves who slept here needed to adjust to the lack of space, and many were peopled by section elves who, for whatever reason, needed to be in from the wild. At the moment all the doors stood open. She knew how the open doors worked far better than she ever had before and passed quickly and quietly through, to lean on the frame of the door at the very end of the row. It was dark. The beds in these places were of a particular human design – long and narrow slabs. Many elves opted for cots or even soft nests they made on the floor. Osp did not. He lay on his belly with his ink-black hair fanned out over his pale skin. His shining cloak covered much of him, and she was grateful for that. His loveliness was distracting enough as it was.

She stepped in, looked at the floor, and simply waited. Which is how elves did things, she'd discovered. She'd seen Ewon go to the King this way. This was because elves didn't truly sleep. Rather, they were lost in reverie, a lucidity of dreams. They could easily feel the presence of others around them, given time.

Sure enough, the elf's long eyes opened in the half-light and he pushed away from the bed. She backed up a step and exhaled, for, at the base of his throat, a tremendous light glowed. It was neither inferno, nor the starlight pillar as could be seen of the King or Lady Galadriel. He'd swallowed the moon. It glowed from inside of him, a round, steady blinding blue.

"What… what is it?" he pulled the cloak around him, and where the fabric slithered over his chest, the strange threads began to awaken. It was as if his light could activate something in the cloak. Its patterns shifted, and, for a moment, she saw stars and night clouds fly across it. It calmed to a sudden perfusion of thorns and blue roses.

Lusis smiled at him, "That cloak is beautiful."

He cringed from her a little. "Is it?" It was very possible he'd never been seen in a state of undress by anything but an elven eye. He certainly seemed unable to determine what to do about her, and what her intentions might be.

"Osp," she let her head drift a little right and forward and watched his muscles relax. The goodwill in the motion made him feel safe. "I'm your friend. Remember?"

He inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. Then he said, "Here… there are no friends."

"That's not true," she glanced up from the pitiless moonlight of him. "You saved my life."

"You have me followed," he told her quietly, "wherever I go."

She'd endured the same in her visit to her father's Keep, just weeks ago. Now Lusis felt so badly for him that her voice went soft. "Do you have any idea how unsafe this place is if you don't know how to fight? If you can't use a sword, friend-Osp. If you have no skill with a weapon?"

His head moved. It bowed.

The motion was one of such defeat and loneliness that Lusis almost relented.

But she would not fail to press for the safety of the Lord and King. "You went to the mountain last night. They threw spears at you. Are you hurt?"

His head rose a little. The cloak shifted. His broad, pale shoulder appeared, and, at the side of it she saw a plaster had been fixed in place under some kind of gauzy material. It seemed affixed to him. Her nerves jumped. Her fingertips landed on the bandaging, delicately. "Osp is the wound deep?"

"No." He shook his bowed head and his copper eyes took her in slowly.

He was wounded, but the real wound wasn't one of the flesh.

"I… I'd been warned about dwarves. Small. Fierce. Pitiless."

Lusis' lips pressed into a line. "No. They're not all like that. I haven't met many, but in the same way that not all elves are the same, not all dwarves are, either." She smoothed his ink-dark hair. It was an extraordinary amount of touching for an elf, but he was so much like an injured and frightened child. "Can I take off this honey plaster? Can I look at it?"

She spent the next ten minutes checking his injury. Steed, who had followed her here, brought supplies – fresh honey, fresh bandaging, and hot water.

"I didn't realize he was hurt." Steed shrank back outside the room to wait.

Lusis shook her head at her Ranger, too angry, yet, to talk to him. She couldn't imagine not noticing that the Western elf had taken a four inch gash to his shoulder. She kept cleaning it, reapplied honey to the wound, and then wrapped it.

Having smelled blood, the Silvan section elves were up and about. They didn't have much to do with the Western elf. But now a young warrior stepped in and took Osp's shirt. He returned it cleaned of blood, and stitched. Osp's head cocked at it – his otherworldly shimmering textile, now stitched with the sturdy green cloth of a Mirkwood Scout. His fingertips smoothed it, and he smiled.

"Poor bee," Lusis said to him. "Is that your only injury?"

His shoulders bunched. "I am not a child."

"Poor bee," she exhaled again. Lusis set her hand on her hips and looked at the bowl of water, red with blood, beside her. It was an eye-opener. He might be different in his dress, speech, bearing and appearance, but he bled no differently. "Please be more careful."

"I want to see things," he said quietly.

"Then work with us, Osp." She told him and looked up at his eyes. "May I call you friend?"

He flinched, taken aback, and she wondered what pellucid line she'd stomped across. She scarcely knew how to keep herself out of trouble with the elves of Middle-Earth. It was highly likely she'd violated his Western-elf mores.

But he sat up and pulled on his shirt. "If… if you would like." He touched his cheek lightly.

"I'm going to ask you, friend-Osp, to work with us, now the worst has happened and you've been attacked and injured going about this on your own." Her lips pressed into a line. "It's about time we started to build trust here. What were you doing at the mountain?"

His head tipped slowly. "I feel things from it. Sickness. Isolation. Longing that cannot be quenched. I feel something lambent in it, something deep." His fingers came to rest over the circular light at the base of his throat and she smiled then, because she knew his eyes couldn't see it. Unlike hers. She laid a hand over the starpoint at the base of her neck. "Let's go tell the King about it."

"Do… do you mean the boy, Thranduil?"

Boy? She gave her head a little shake. "I mean the Elvenking."

He sucked a deep breath, held it, and then released it slowly. "Do you understand… that for a being such as myself – an Emissary of the West – to call him a King, is to assign to him a kind of power… that I am not certain he deserves? In fact, given the quality of leaders in Valar, I am relatively certain that he manifestly does not deserve-"

A sharp hiss sounded from across the hall, and Osp fell silent. He glanced up at Lusis, who knew that a sudden explosion of emotion like that one was akin to cursing among the Silvan.

She hadn't looked away from him or varied a thing in her patiently pleasant expression. Hands on her hips, she let her chin sink in affirmation. She told him. "You are wrong."

He stared up at her, and then said, "I cannot call him King."

"We'll cross the rough water as we reach it." She glanced at his shape under the cloak. He was slender and eternally youthful. Lovely. And not her King. "We should tell him what you feel in the Mountain."

"Why would we do that?" Osp asked her quietly. "His sense of this place, his claimed land, is potent. He knows." Now he glanced back at her with his coppery eyes. "Does he tell you nothing?"

Lusis looked at him for a few heartbeats. She turned from him and left by the door. "Steed, call a healer to him. He is an elf, and he must be treated as one."

"I'll see to him," Steed sighed and then bowed to her. "I failed you and he was hurt. I'm sorry."

She mussed his dark hair before she left for the upstairs.

Surely the King was up by now.

He was abroad. In point of fact, the entire upstairs gallery – that broad hall of windows and open doors – which had buzzed with the unobtrusive activity of elves, was all but empty now. At the far end, the King of Mirkwood stood within a cloud of elves. Amathon stood in genial tranquility facing the stairs as Lusis came up. When she turned the corner, she immediately found Nimpeth at the ready, knives in hand, and there was no cordiality on her face. Her narrow chin dipped, she lowered her fighting knives, and flattened to the wall again. This was not an uncommon sentry configuration for elves inside a structure. In fact, there was a saying based upon it: Beware the sunny one, and dread the elf you do not see.

Lusis passed between them, looked back, and bowed fractionally.

Elites were terrifying.

The King. He was wearing a pale and scintillating silver. The tall collar on his throat flashed red as hands touched it to rights. Winter clothes were layered for elves, the lighter undercoat was a glorious ruby red. With the light she could see in him, he closely resembled a star. She stood and watched the elves around him bring bright pauldrons and strap them to place. They had the most glorious frost-whorl patterns and were white, as it they had been comprised of hoarfrost. They lifted his colourless hair and one of them curled it gently so that it could be laid into the hood of a cloak that had arrived via Jan Kasia. The Master of Boats stood back and admired the cloak they laid upon the King – long, with a deep hood, and covered in white fur.

He walked to join Lusis as the elves fussed with it. He jabbed a thumb at the window. "It snowed in the predawn, and it's too cold, these short hours of the day, to melt." He spoke quietly, and grinned, "All the elves who lay out his things went into a paroxysm."

"Elves usually don't wear furs," she noted of the quiet King.

"The Furriers are a rising power north of Erebor, bidding to headquarter their business in the downtown area of the piers. Their Mistress is a woman of the Mark – Kells Srus – and she sent it along with a missive for the Council and a very grand scroll made out to the King. She's offering to come to see him." He added, "You'd like her, Lusis. She's a tall woman. Sharp-minded. Carries a sword."

"You misunderstand me." Lusis told him. "I'll consider liking her if she carries the sword for me. For us." She nodded at him and included, in a quick round motion of her hand, Lake Township.

His expression revealed that he strongly approved of this. "Such fur cloaks are gifts fit for the King of Gondor himself, so I convinced them to have him wear one. To reject them would worry the Furriers, and behind them, the pelt-makers, and the trappers – these people pay to use the Forest for shipping, too. I don't expect him to gobble-up any of the meat of the animals that were trapped, but he has to have an open mind on some matters." Kasia said as he looked in the King's direction. "He's a King of Men now… not just elves."

Lusis watched the King shut his eyes and wait. He gathered his scant patience, as an elf tapped his long white-blond hair into place against the front of his pauldrons. Perhaps Osp would bring them some of his rulers to measure his symmetries with – he had these most puzzling 'slide-rules' whose functions she didn't fully understand. She'd seen him use the things when making notes on the all too human construction of Kasia's Keep. "Lusis-sell," the King's voice whispered down the hall as if a disconnected thing, and Lusis realized with a jolt, that the words had been spoken inside her head.

She stepped up from Kasia, "Elfking?"

His head turned slowly. "Prepare for the world."

Of course, he meant for her to go get a thick travel cloak, but she felt herself grin, anyway, as she headed for the tall supply chest. "Maybe they should prepare for me." She only just glimpsed his brows rising as she opened the doors and found the folded elven cloaks within.

She slid into a cloak sized for an elf woman, and shut the door. The soundless King was just feet away from her, on the other side. She jolted. That economy of motion that made them soundless. She could never quite get accustomed to it. As a result, most elves assumed something was amiss when she jumped. However, the King was used to this quality in her. He stood waiting.

She pressed the tall wardrobe shut, "Do you realize I still have the necklace? The one of silver and pearl that your friend gave to you? I've had it all these months?"

His body went still. He scarcely seemed to do more than breathe the words, "Lusis-sell…?"

Lusis gripped the handles for the wardrobe in her fingers and felt like a foolish child. For what was six months to one such as him? Why would he notice?

But he was certainly noticing now. Elves cleared away from him. They fell into clusters apart from the Istari and the King whose silver eyes watched her so closely. After a moment of near silence, he said, "Lusis Buckmaster, what has changed? Have… associations somehow… come undone between us? You are in my charge and custody, and I am, likewise, in your care." His unblinking eyes studied her. Concern touched his careful expression.

She turned around and flattened to the closed doors of the wardrobe like they might pop open and disgorge a drunken goblin. Her voice was quiet. "It was an observation. No more. I meant you no insult." Her face burned. "I would not do you insult."

Almost utter silence had fallen in the hall.

Finally, his petal lips inhaled. His voice went quiet, "Are we not beyond these confusions?"

She never felt further from him then when she admitted, "I don't understand." She reached into her pocket and touched the chain she kept with her at all times. "Don't you want it? Your dear friend gave it to you."

The Elfking's graceful hand moved fractionally, downwards. "Do we trust one another?"

"Of course, we do." She had to press the heat out of her cheeks at this misstep. "But it's yours."

"If I am your King… you are also mine," he told her patiently. "Another… place wherein I may safely choose to leave such things." He shut his eyes and a tumble of elvish came next. Once in a very long while, she hit on a nerve so close to the core of what it meant to be an elf, to understand oneself as an edhel, that elves couldn't explain in anything but elvish.

The King's eyes opened slowly. He took another step in her direction and opened his arms so that the cloak fell away from him, and he caught it. "We… we must speak, privately."

"You have something to do – somewhere to go. I won't delay you." She bowed to him.

He considered her for some time, and the elves behind him lifted the cloak back into position after he had so magnificently displaced it. His face read acceptance, and… something she couldn't properly discern. In the end, his head rose and he said, "Come with me, Lusis Buckmaster, and no matter who interferes, do not part from me today."

She followed on his soundless silver heels. The staff stood along the lower railings.

As he passed them, they bowed, which he studiously ignored.

Many elves followed, Elites among their number, which told her that the matter of the Men of the Peaks was being taken very seriously. Nimpeth and Telfeth, the young ingénue archer, fell in beside Lusis. They stayed beside her as she passed by quarters where Steed guarded, and Osp healed. Elves opened the doors to winter and stepped aside.

Lusis came out into the snowy cold with a soft exhalation. She was a creature of the high North. The cold here, which made Jan Kasia cringe beside the horse that Ranger Argus Samas held, didn't give her pause. The King and elves looked as if they couldn't feel it in the slightest.

Lusis glanced aside at the snow-coloured King of Mirkwood. The overcast sky attempted to paint him grey. Instead, his skin took on a crisp white glow, touched by the softest hint of peach and rose. To her eyes, he was glowing from the inside. The light of lamps on long staves added warmth to his skin and hair. This was not lost on the many Men standing in the still, cold air of morning. They were dockworkers, coopers, fishermen, warehouse workers, and so many others that Lusis' eyes lost track of them all. The Forces stood facing these Men of Long Lake.

The Rangers – her troop among them – watched the crowd and progress of the King, in turns. One man wrung his woolen hat in his hands and stared at the tall Sinda as if he was watching a star roll along the world. He laid a hand over his heart and tried to bow, but he, like many, seemed powerless to take his eyes off the silver King.

Could they see it somehow? Did they? Or did they simply know his fire. Feel it.

For his part, Elfking Thranduil raised a graceful hand, its moonstone blinking in the light of tall lamps, and a sudden banditry of chickadees soared around it. They winged off over the wall and banked for the Silver Beech.

Lusis watched this affectionately. She prized how the natural world loved him and how their simple amity brought him peace. In these moments she thought he was glorious.

Jan Kasia mustered his daily bow. "Please forgive the crowd, my King."

The Elfking's head rose. "For what failing?"

"There was word of an attack on your person on the pier yesterday," Jan Kasia noted. "These people feel safe through the actions of the Council, and the intervention of their King. Many of them write to me of your splendor and wholesomeness, saying that it is a blessing to the land."

The Elfking's long eyes closed as he said, "I am not so precious, and am unhurt." His silver gaze fixed on the white stone cobbles that led from the yard to town.

Jan Kasia had his own dash of pride, and may have agreed with this assessment, but he didn't dare say so aloud. Instead, he observed, "They are very eager to see that you remain that way, Elfking."

But Lusis understood the fullness of this, and the King's hardship in understanding, and looked up to his gently waving hair. "They're here to back you, my King. They're here to show you support."

The armed and girded elves ahead turned, as one, and stepped aside. The bull-elk cantered in onto the cobbles. The red of his rein shone against the white of his coat and, momentarily, the King brightened. "Hello, little one." He swung up to the saddle and turned the elk in a circle. "A horse for Lusis Buckmaster, Master of Boats."

He turned the bull-elk at once. He simply expected obedience.

The elk loped toward the crushed stone that ran along the water. Lusis' brows drew down in dismay, "Hurry, yes?" she told the men bringing her a young mare, but they weren't quite fast enough, and so she jogged after the King and forced them into pursuit.

Nimpeth met her with a horse – the white horse of Glorfindel, in fact – and Lusis hooked her hand over the low horn and hopped astride. The King's great white elk stood at the cobbled lane to Lake Township, proper, and waited. Jan Kasia joined them on the right, and they stared out at a street filled with people. The Elfking's face was unreadable.

They stood back from Ewon's and Amathon's tall grey horses. Both elves were fixed on scanning the crowd. Nimpeth spoke from beside Lusis, "We can take you by another route, my-"

The Elfking's elk glided forward.

In the street, Men peeled back and crowded along the sides of the road. The elk went down the middle, Ewon and Amathon at either side, neither of them holding rein. Their hands were occupied with the bows and arrows they had knocked.

The crowds bent before the passage of the elk and, in many places, red flower petals had been sprinkled over the snow. Lusis followed behind the burning pillar of Kingship, and marveled that Men, whose eyes couldn't see the brightness of any elf, could yet detect the purity and majesty in him.

The elk broke into a long gallop. The King's hair floated behind his coasting body like the tail on a shooting star. What tied him to the earth, she didn't know, but the crowds of Men who stretched along the lip of the lake as far as she could see, Lusis knew they – standing in the cracking cold of the North wind for leagues – were willing to try.

They went through town toward a slow rolling rise, and there, through trees and tall houses, a great circle of hillock stood with a large, beautiful wooden house nestled behind snowy oaks on its crest. It was an older construction that had been refurbished by the citizens of Lake Township. It was a rich wooden brown, but now sported wood trim stained to a golden glimmer, and a door of the same golden red that appeared in the Elfking's lozenge. They were trying to make it satisfying for him.

Men and elves, Lusis' suppressed a smile. Elves and Men. Assembling.

"This is the mansion of the last Master of Lake Township." Jan Kasia said quietly. "As promised." He bowed in the saddle and he nudged his horse across the lawn and onto the clay path to the large house. Lusis fell in beside the King.

"How is the Lord?"

"Resting," the King said quietly and added. "He has exhausted three healers." His elk slowed, "Lusis Buckmaster… he is waning. Soon, you may be needed." He laid a hand on his chest. His fingers shivered lightly.

She pulled a deep breath and exhaled mist. "I'll be ready," Lusis glanced up from his fingers at his paleness. "Elfking, this won't be our only opportunity to uncover our foes."

In a tumble of white-golden hair, his head turned away, perhaps unhappy at the prospect of releasing the small advantage he had like a bird on the wind. But Lusis didn't think what weakened them was also of significant benefit. "Better to have him healthy and able to wield a sword and bow."

They were met at the door by trio of young men in red and gold. They came to take the horses. Lusis got down and handed her reins over. The King glided off his bull-elk. He stepped forward and whispered to the creature in elvish. Its white ears flicked and it snuffled his chest. "Go," said the King, and the great deer loped off into the pasture before the wood building to look for lichens among the trees. His white coat matched the landscape well.

When the King did turn, the three young men stared, full of unhelpful awe. This caused the Elfking to glance at Kasia and wait. When the Master of Boats started them for the house, Lusis heard the stable-boys whispering about how the elves left no footprints in the snow. She looked down at where Nimpeth glided, beside her, and her eyes widened because this was no rumour. It was true.

She did.

But of course she did.

Then it was the King, his closest Elites, young Telfeth, and Lusis on their way into the property of the Master of Lake Township. There were three levels. Each storey had a front balcony. The effect created a tall and sheltered walkway along the front of the house to the entrance, cobbled with stone flags and lined with tree-trunk pillars. The large red double doors opened. A delicious wall of heat rolled out at them, and Lusis inhaled it into her cold lungs.

Before the King had claimed Lake Township, the criminal element in the area had seen to it that this house had been empty as often as possible. After they'd murdered a few of the Masters, the position had become permanently vacant. The force of men protecting the city had come under steady assault. The Council of Lake Township had realized they were under siege and gambled on the King next door, which was how the elves of Mirkwood had come to be here.

The red-wood house was airy, spacious, and full of light. It was not of the design of most large human habitations – not a Keep. That was to say they did not enter and find themselves in a huge hall. They stepped in a square wood foyer with scrolling stairs to each side. The space was full of bustle. Men and women cleaned and polished, they stacked and crated. A tall man called out orders and took inventory with a team of people making notes. This was the same person who made decisions where items were to be collected and, ultimately, stored.

The King stepped into firelight and the work inside stuttered and stopped under the weight of his unblinking silver gaze. The man holding the sheaf of papers turned and then fell silent. The King was still, radiant, with his slightly ovoid pupils slowly shrinking in firelight. His graceful hands, joined before him, moved up and outward marginally.

Lusis knew this gesture. "Please, return to your work. The Elfking has come to tour the house and view the paperwork here. He does not wish to delay you." She'd been briefed on the purpose of his visit by a highly uncomfortable young elf from beyond a screen, while she'd been napping in her bath. She remembered some of it.

No one moved.

Jan Kasia pulled a face. He took a few steps toward the workers and waved his hands at the crates. "Work on. What condition do we Men of Long Lake want the manor to be in as he takes possession of it?" Still there was no motion. No one looked away from the Elfking. Kasia's voice rose. "Come, you lot. The Elvenking is not sculpted of Mithril and gemstones, back to it!"

Lusis derided under her breath even as she touched his forelock of hair to place. "As if ores or gems could be as precious as this light." The King's chin dropped and he seemed to sneak a look at her off to his left. She missed the quick glance, seeing as she was involved in settling his fur cloak over the white fire inside of his silver long-coat.

But that last tactic prodded the workers to motion again. They headed down a passage wide enough for a cart to drive through. People stepped aside and sketched bows at the King. He carefully ignored them. As they toured the downstairs, a woman darted out of a room before him, carrying a hunk of graphite in a pan – her hands were black with polishing a massive fire grill. She froze, horrified, and was dragged out of the King's path by a matronly woman. This great-breasted woman stammered, "It, oh-my, it, my King, will look much, much better when we're done," she hesitated to watch his unreadable face, gave up, and bowed.

The King glanced from her at the sunny room beyond. "Tell me… what is that way?"

Her eyes bulged with surprise that he'd spoken to her. "Music room, great King."

The King's arms opened and he made his way on toward it with Ewon just beside him. Lusis thanked the woman and girl and noted, "I know how hard it is to clean such a contraption. It's likely to be renovated, should the King take this place." She glanced at the girl's red knuckles, and the angry colour around her fingernails, "The elves… they do these things differently."

While the girl looked relieved, Lusis remembered doing this work herself.

She followed along to the music room. Inside, it was spotted with sunlight. Chairs and benches lined the walls, but most of the space was open. Kasia thought a moment, back-tracked, and opened both of the double doors to the room. The elves inside the music room relaxed visibly. It was the first time, in this new place, any of them had seemed somewhat at ease.

The King circled a harpsichord on the rug with some curiosity. "It is suitable, Master of Boats, for the purpose I have in mind…. For the most part." He stopped beside a full-sized harp, reached a hand, and one-handed, plucked strings with quick and beautiful precision. Lusis felt her eyes open wide. She glanced at Ewon, beside her, and he was so pleased he looked at the floor. The King went on, "I should like an easel added into this room. Is there a library?"

"Second floor." Kasia noted distractedly – he was by no means immune to the ringing beauty the King's intricate fingertips made against harp strings. He stared as if transfixed, "Off the map-room."

"Good," said the King as he stepped away from the harp. "Show me."

He regretted that the elven tune had come to an end. Out in the halls, the workers hurried back to business, pretending they hadn't been standing still, just as spellbound. Lusis knew the feeling. There was nothing human about the way his fingers moved across strings. Their motion blurred and what emerged was a cloud of divine sound utterly unfamiliar to Man.

She nudged the King as Kasia led them toward the map-room, and winced a little. What was a gentle and friendly gesture among humans had no context to the King. She nodded tightly. "Forgive me. I forgot myself." She wondered if she was losing her sense.

His silver eyes, like the gaze of twin moons, glided away from her, and his lids drew halfway down over them. He looked grave. She wondered at that.

The Library and map room were separated by a very elven arch. There was no attempt at a barrier or door. The elves stopped inside the room and looked at it. Amathon turned away to huff with a suppressed laugh that gained him such a sharp look from Ewon that he turned to the King and bowed so low his hands pressed his knees.

The King made a gentle upward motion with his fingers, "Amathon. Explain."

He fell back into line. "It is just… I am glad." He ignored the sharp glance from Nimpeth and the curious one from young Telfeth. "So very glad that Men can make a passageway. It is… handsome. Handsome passageway." He patted the wood of it with one hand.

The Elfking swiftly looked at the floor and he glided across to the map-room with far too much dimple showing. Nimpeth shot a withering glance at her husband, but it couldn't quite conceal her amusement. It made sense to Lusis that the King would find his closest Elites agreeable, even in their humour. She clapped the wood of the passage as she stepped through it. "Nice."

Behind her, Nimpeth couldn't repress her chuckle.

So it was they filtered into an antique wooden jewel-box that was the map room. Kasia stood staring up at the King. The King's great silver eyes coasted along the shelves and tapestries, across the wood maps, and the paper and vellum on the tables. He stepped up to one wooden production mounted on a stand, and his fingertips touched a very inexact map of Mirkwood. His head tipped, lovingly. Kasia saw this and straightened, pleased. His relationship to the King was unorthodox – Men having no experience with being subject to elves, and having less skill living with them than even Lusis had. Kasia didn't like to bow to a King. Except he was truly coming to admire one.

"When we came down the river after losing the barges," Kasia said quietly. "We weren't sure where to find you. We knew there had been a bridge across the river once, now gone. If it hadn't been for the great stone doors one of the women spotted... we would have passed your Halls."

His brows rose. "I know." His fingertips traced the river out as far as the Greylin, and across from there he found Tatharion house. Now his hand glided upward to Buckmaster Spur. "Our new guests," his hand raced along Ered Mithrim, "are from the borderlands of Angmar. Some of the toughest Men in the North, the Men of the Peaks."

"Did you know them?" Lusis asked curiously.

His head tipped sidewise so as to take her in with those great silver eyes. "Long ago, when I was little more than a grown child, I knew elf-blooded men who stood along that border."

"I have a hard time picturing you as a child," Lusis smothered a grin.

"Clearly you haven't been in the Hall of Figures," his brows rose in surrender.

She smiled at the map and told him, "I will be. You can be sure of that."

His fingertips drummed the wood map for an instant. Then his long hand pressed down over the Mirkwood. He murmured a few soft words in Elvish before he turned to the table covered in all manner of papers and renderings of atlases. But Lusis spared a glance over the forest and, for an instant, she saw a tracery, like lace across the surface of the pine. It was like drawings of constellations across the woodlands. The effect faded at once.

She turned to the mound of paper and vellum that distracted the King and saw that there was a large map of the city. It had onion-skin thin paper over the top, and layers of graphite drawings. The sum was that the whole affair recorded the changes of the past year. It was a plan. And all of it was expertly, painstakingly recorded.

Ewon came forward and laid a carefully folded sheaf of papers on the table. Lusis recognized these at once. She'd been involved in drawing them up.

The Elfking tapped the thick paper of a map. "I see this is recent." He approved.

"Some of the watercolour maps hung around were wet yesterday," Kasia told him. "This large one is most complete. The cartographer updates it over there," he directed the King's attention to an angled table with clamps at the corners, "and laid out here for inspection. Likewise, the wet paintings are dried on lines overnight."

The King gave a nod and gestured at the papers that Lusis knew she had helped to collect.

"What is that?" Kasia asked curiously.

"A list, Master of Boats. These are your missing people," Lusis lifted up the small stack and opened it out. She laid out nine drawings, but most of the paper was given over to her handwriting in Westron – a list of names. "Some of these are pictures of the missing. But it took me, or my troop, time to gather a list from communities around the lake. Well… those that didn't shutter their shacks on sight of us. Or hide. Or attack us." She'd been working on the margins of, and among the communities of criminals springing up like weeds in the acreage around here.

Kasia's eyes narrowed. "If these are criminals, then they're hardly reliable. They may have slain one another over gambling. Who knows?"

"Argus Samas knows," the King was studying the city map closely. His downy deep voice was unfocused, "He has been collecting and keeping crime numbers. It is a natural habit of keepers of order, enforcers of laws, and leaders. Your Master of Forces, Gurn Drivenn, has been preserving these records since his arrival. Directly or indirectly, numbers tell us where problems lie."

"There are too many," Lusis had been scanning the paperwork that Argus kept in the Forces' records. "I mean… I'm not sure, but it looks as if-"

The King turned the pages on the table toward himself and glanced over them quickly. His silver gaze found her. "Yes, there are too many missing. Reports are up 9 percent."

She cocked her head at the numbers. "Okay. And that's significant?"

"Yes, against our sample," the King's distracted voice was back. "Do they not teach you calculations in the mountains, Lusis Buckmaster?"

"I've been cutting the heads off orcs. I'm a bit rusty with arithmetic." She told him.

He glanced up at her and gave a little puff of amusement. "I slew six dragons."

"Fine," she crossed her arms on her ribs, "I'll brush up. What are the numbers telling you, oh busy-head?"

He stared at her a moment and as he looked down at the map again, his eyelids gave a brief flicker. So strange to see him blink. "The criminal element does not report missing persons to the Forces. In turn, it is difficult for even your troop of Rangers to prize this information from them."

"You need to talk to their women and children, if they have any." Lusis noted. "They will talk."

Kasia's brows drew down. "They have families?"

He was roundly ignored by the Elfking, so Lusis followed suit. But, in her experience, spouses and children of a lawbreaker could possess the same love as could be seen in any law-abiding family. They mistrusted the Forces more, but Rangers had a sketchy reputation and she'd appealed to them in a way the badge carriers did not. Many would have done anything in their power for the chance of finding their loved ones again.

Now the King exhaled. "This would argue many more may be missing than have been reported."

"Orc food," Ewon made a soft hiss. "Fodder for wolves, my King." It was on all of their minds.

"That is a sad fate." The King said quietly. He nipped his lip, which was something he only did when so deep in thought that he'd begun to forget himself in favour of information, details, and data.

The wind outside picked up, and the fire behind the grate in the corner made a gruff gust that stirred Kasia from this rather depressing line of reasoning. "Elf… Elfking, is this map-room to your liking? Shall we leave it as it is?"

"Do not touch a thing." The King murmured, and, for the first time, audible in his voice was an effect she'd only noticed among the Western Elves of the Council – there, under his words, was a soft, deep purr not unlike the wingbeats of a moth on glass, or against the cup of one's hands. It reminded her of how it was often possible to hear sparks snap under Osp's voice. She hoped the big Western elf was all right.

They toured the remainder of the wooden dwelling and stepped out onto the highest balcony at the back. The King shone as a crystal might, under the slow sugaring of snow. Ewon bounced up to the railing with an arrow knocked and made himself unobtrusive, or tried. Nimpeth echoed his position, but more out of sight, through the slatted wood of the balcony, which, notably, disguised its arrow loops as decoration. Admirable.

Lusis looked at her King, "Are you going to take it?"

His head turned a fraction, so that his silver eye could fix on her. "What do you think of it?"

"Beautiful. Spacious." She thought for a moment longer and frowned. "I would prefer stone for you. More defensible. Less susceptible to arson."

A dimple flickered beside his mouth. "I see we think alike. But… it is not my intention to remain here. I am… content closer to the tree – the Silver Beech."

"Yes," she exhaled. "The closest structure is still Kasia's. It will remain so unless they break earth in the Flowers of the Forest – the field-"

"I would not hear of it." The King said. "Kasia will have to suffer me, yet." The Master of Boats was somewhere behind him in the upstairs salon, where he spoke to a member of the staff. It was a beautiful room, replete with masterful Third Age paintings and illustrated manuscripts under the most amazingly clear glass.

Lusis stepped closer, used to obfuscation when it came to her King. "Why are you here?"

"I am here for you and yours." He told her quietly. "I am here according to plan."

She didn't follow this.

He turned to her, snowflakes slowly arching around him, and his exhalation causing silvery puffs in air to remind all that he was yet of flesh and breath. His angled eyes narrowed. "If you wish to contest the stewardship of Buckmaster Spur, Istari, best do it from a position of strength. We will declare this Buckmaster Hall on Long Lake, and let it be known. Let those who would adhere to you send word, and those who cannot survive Kirstman Buckmaster's harassment seek refuge here. There are elves aplenty in this land – though they go unseen. But elves are not Men. We are loath to interfere in the business of Mankind. You see, at heart, we poorly understand our cousins. That means this embattled Northern town, which stands before the lesion of the Lonely Mountain and must endure the bleeding of it, can but benefit from an influx of Rangers."

"You're going to give this place… to me?"

"Yes, you, and into the care of your brothers, that they may work on our behalves and build a safer Lake Township," he turned to her fully, like the face of the moon after eclipse. But he sounded more mourning dove than moth wings now. "And that you may have a residence, Istari… in this place you have called home."

She stared at him, wordlessly. Of course, inside there was a tidal bore of things to say warring at the base of her throat. But outwardly, where it counted, she was mute.

The King turned and went inside. He made his way to Kasia to speak with him, and left Lusis staring at the slow flit of snow. Ewon looked at her as he glided down to the deck again, and then he followed his King. Nimpeth didn't budge, and was soon joined, on Ewon's side, by Telfeth.

"He means to give me this." She said.

Telfeth wasn't sure what to do. She risked a glance at Nimpeth whose eyes narrowed – nothing said 'Don't do it' like the narrowing of elven eyes, Lusis had found.

It was Nimpeth who eventually answered. "My Lady, you have to trust to the plans of the King."

Lusis exhaled and saw her way through the logic. If Elsenord took over this place in the name of the Buckmasters, then resistance would have a 'home-base'. This was an advantage to anyone doing as she'd done – flying Buckmaster Spur, and Kirstman's obnoxious attitudes. But it also gave the King a stalking horse. This growing city of Men was more easily found than the Halls. Pains had been taken to hide that place: the great bridge had been removed; the huge doors were hard to spot from the river until one was upon them, and the span could be hidden by stands of trees, overnight. The elves were clever and cryptic when they needed to be. And Kirstman couldn't come down the Forest River in secret to begin with. He could charge along the top of the Mirkwood, turn right at the gap between the forest and the plain of Erebor, and ride down on Lake Township. But they'd be seen for miles. The better plan was to circle the Lonely Mountain and go past the dragon-cursed ruins of Esragoth. The rolling land there would offer a means of quiet attack.

Not that it wasn't madness that she was thinking about this. About infighting among her people. But she'd had a taste of Kirstman's gist of rule, and it had left her with bad premonitions.

And, of course, this little citadel was on the side of town one would encounter first, plus there was room in the front and on the flanks for the bivouac of many troops. There was a thin screen of housing between here and the long arch of open farmland at the top of the lake. She wondered if a wall could be built to hold the vulnerable croplands – one that could be patrolled by Men.

The King returned to her side. He looked out into the snow with a silvery sigh.

"Are you all right, my King?"

"Nothing I do pleases the Istari. It is ever a joust for her company." He breathed.

"Nonsense. I've told you before that I love your people." She frowned at him.

Then he gave a soft hmm. "You will love them enough when you say 'our' instead of 'your'."

This shocked Lusis. She looked across at Nimpeth, and then at Telfeth, to the left. They were so powerful. She hadn't noticed her own tendency to think of their welfare as something other than her problem. They weren't her responsibility. She saw Telfeth sneak a hopeful glance in her direction. Silence fell over her – a hush of snow. But if the King was to depart the shores, if he was to be forced to the West and made an example, who would protect the tender Kings of Mirkwood?

She felt a stinging in her throat. "You don't mean for me to go with you. West."

There was a long silence during which the King turned his head enough to watch her face. "I do not mean to go, myself, Lusis-sell, but if I must… I would suffer any death before I would see my sons stranded in this cold and changeable world… undefended." He stepped in and leaned over her. His pale warmth pressed to her hair. His voice was a whisper on the edge of her half-shut eye. "Lend them your power, great one. I have given all I can. These Silvan hearts of mine… I will make them yours."

Pine-needles and lightheadedness. Lusis shut her eyes and thought she told his mind I will not let them take you. But he gave no sign of hearing as much as he straightened away from her. She caught her breath and balance against the railing, and decided she was glad the moment had passed with him unaware of that lapse in her personal resolve – that she loved him.

No. He was quite distracted. His white-blond head tilted and he turned the direction of the angle. "Master of Boats," his deep voice passed between the conversing staff and Kasia like a furred animal, "What is that place downhill and near the edge of town? That cluster of tall red houses on the edge of the Lake?"

"That…" Kasia stepped up to the doorway. "Oh, you would have no interest in that, Elfking."

Thranduil's teeth flashed, "I have already asked." He said sharply, but quickly harnessed his temper as he looked down at the man beside him.

"That you have," Kasia rubbed his stubble with one hand. "So you have. But don't say I didn't warn you, Elfking. That – that red castle there – is the abode of Nema Aragennya. Nema, the Madam. That is her home and place of business… and no place for an elf."

"I see her," he turned back in the direction of the towering red buildings.

Kasia laughed at this and then sobered quickly, "You what?"

"I see her pacing along the windows… on the uppermost floor." He turned to Kasia. "In a state of agitation. What has befallen your fellow Council member?"

"No idea," Kasia rolled his shoulders. "I'm sure it's not important."

The King released a soft hiss of breath as he made his way back through the salon in the upstairs, tall, beautiful, and vexed. The staff shot out of his path and he sliced through all confusion like an axe through balsa.

His long body was so very tall that archways were being reworked. He passed through them on the way down to the ground floor. Lusis grinned and broke into a lope behind him. "Uh, pardon me for saying, Elvenking, but you shouldn't run in there without Kasia and myself. You probably shouldn't go into that place at all." She wished she had her Ranger troop with her.

Ewon tossed his fleet body over the staircase and landed with birdlike ease. "My King. We should attend the Yellow Istari."

The King pressed words out between his gritted teeth, his fire flaring. "She is with me, is she not?" He drew Lyglim and the silvery blade fluttered through air with an expert hand. At his advanced age, he did not like to be treated as if there were elements to the natural congress of beings that might utterly overwhelm him. He rested the blade along his back.

Kasia hurried down the stairs, stumbled, and was kept from a headlong fall by Amathon's quick catch. The big Elite's brows rose. "Oh, we do not doubt you, Master of Boats. No need to fall upon his sword." He almost smiled before he darted over the railing and landed, easily, in the downstairs. His wife met him outside, having leapt from the balcony with Telfeth behind her.

The bull-elk trotted along the path of the King and he caught hold of the ruff of the creature and was aloft in one mercurial motion. He rode with graceful side-saddle ease, and the deer swung around the house in an arc before the King turned him downhill. Only the elves could keep up with him. Lusis sighed and told Kasia. "If they don't hurry, we'll have to run."

The Master of Boats grumbled, "The man is exhausting." He gestured to where the stable boys rushed along with horses and turned his handsome face her way. "Does the elf understand what the flesh trade is about? Or does he think Nema runs a guild of butchers?"

Lusis stepped up into the white horse's saddle and guided Glorfindel's tall mare forward. She spared only a glance for Kasia. "She does."

"What?" Kasia asked as he mounted.

"She does run a guild of butchers." Lusis told him as she nudged the elf-horse into a canter. "None of you ask her what it is she's butchering."

He laughed at this, "Oh, come now. Why would she ever rise to Madam feeling that way?"

But Lusis knew. She, too, had been exposed to life-altering violence as a child. She'd spoken to prostitutes before. Nema had been abandoned on the bloody block of her trade the same as the rest of those children, and had survived as split parts of a woman. A living marketplace. All those parts left had been forced to believe in fate, to believe in, and accept, the normalcy of misery. The routine of it. And now she must have believed she was, at least, better than the alternative. But he couldn't know this. Kasia didn't think of the people inside of those houses as anything other than people fulfilling a function. It never passed his mind that families were sending their children to Nema, and that their lives would forever be imprinted by the casual abuses of their new existence.

"Faster, pretty girl," she told the mare's flickering ears. "Hurry to the Elfking." She knew none of this complexity would escape him. She didn't want him to be hurt.

The bull-elk stood chewing on lichens at the base of a tree. It shook off snow as Lusis' white horse pulled into a wide, round cobbled yard. She dismounted and handed her horse over to a tall and powerful man. He wore red livery and nodded in greeting. "Welcome to the Leisure Houses, Miss. If your business here is joining the Flower World, the Sorrow Trade, we can take you around the back."

"Fires no."

"I didn't think so, so clean, and with a horse like this." He told her and glanced aside at the elves gathering in the yard. "Are… those the elves of Long Lake, Miss?"

"Yes," she nodded at him.

He sucked a deep breath, "They are beautiful."

"Yes," she felt her lips compress.

Other huge men, also in livery, gathered around and appeared astonished. One of the older men managed the words, "Miss, is that him?" He made a small gesture at the vision in silver, tall, gleaming, tendrils of sheer white-blond hair flagging in the breeze. "He… must be. Who else?"

"Yes," she replied, "That is him. And he is – they are – unspoiled. Please help me take them into the house by a route that won't expose them," she looked away and struggled for words, "to the things we do."

The eldest of the men pushed a hand through his greying hair at the doors exhaling mist, "You would protect them."

"Yes."

"I was born in there, you know." He said heavily. His voice sounded tired and grey. "I worked in there. There… is our world and our survival. And a fire that turns souls to ashes. And you would protect the elves?" He glared at her.

"I know it is unfair," she looked him in the eye. "But the King is well capable of shutting this place and locking up every soul involved, within an hour. He is a King, and he will neither care what happens to the city because of this action, nor hesitate. He will not pity. Believe me in this. His power is absolute. The influence to improve conditions in this place will be granted Nema only if the King doesn't come to fully understand what it does."

They glanced at one another and at the house, their only world. They employed a small town of workers, this street of Leisure Houses. "We shall see to it, Miss. Give us a few minutes." Then two of the men hurried to a side entrance.

One of the younger guards at the front of the red house broke the silence. "Do you mean it?"

"Do I mean?" Lusis waited.

"That conditions will improve for us, now that he-" the young man inclined his head at the magical being that was the King even here, "-he has come?"

She gave a short laugh, shocked that it had been such a long time since she'd allowed herself to laugh at all – an unforeseen side-effect of living among the elves. Then she told him, "One can never underestimate an elf's longing for peace, serenity, and order."

She checked.

The Elfking stood with Ewon speaking to him. The Elite seemed to have some premonition of what the Leisure Houses were for, but then, he was a vastly different class of elf than his King. Ewon stole a look at Lusis and his eyes widened emphatically for a moment: Fix this. She actually heard this in her skull. She glanced at Amathon and Nimpeth. They wordlessly faced the comings and goings of Men in and out of the front door. Their beautiful faces were as still as their motionless bodies, but their long, cruel blades were at ready.

Young Telfeth stood behind her with both her fighting knives out, and her fox-face taciturn.

The King glanced aside to Kasia and was, quite honestly, a pitiless pillar of light in the yard of the red house. Lusis exhaled slowly and watched the side-door. It opened and the older man stepped outside and bowed to her.

She turned and said, "We're ready, Elfking."

The young men followed in the King's wake as if pulled along by the static of him. He spoke in elvish to Ewon until the point where he arrived at the staircase flanking the house. There the greying man opened both doors and stepped aside for his passage. Sweet-scented air flooded out, along with trickles of laughter and the sounds of singing and the Elfking paused.

Kasia went up into this without hesitation, but the King's head tipped back and he glanced across the side of the red house, and into its cream interior. The grey man bowed low. "Wel… welcome, King." He stammered.

Inside, Jan Kasia awaited the King.

"Abide and do not fear me," the Elfking said as he glided up the stairs and passed the man by. His wake cut through the syrupiness with a waft of healthy woodlands and tall trees.

Kasia led him.

This way and that went the staff carrying food and wine to the front.

The smell of meat cooking made Telfeth hiss through her teeth. Elves almost always found that smell somewhat objectionable.

The pale hall before them was broad. Members of the staff flattened to the walls and sideboards, with eyes wide open in disbelief.

Kasia was grinning as he glanced from the staircase. "This way, Elfking."

A girl on the back stairs dropped to her knees and bent her head in the landing as he passed her by, an action he was keenly aware of, in the most indifferent of appearances. In the upper hallway, the wintery sunlight came through a pair of windows set side-by-side and recessed in the wall. Along a polished wood floor covered in fur rugs, Nema appeared.

She was fetching in pale yellow, her too-thin waist shockingly narrow as she turned to ease the door shut. Her eyes were ruddy with tears shed, Lusis suspected, earlier. The King stopped as he came off the stair and rounded the post. "Greetings to you, Nema of the Council of Lake Township."

"My King," she said throatily. "You… you have come to visit me. To visit me here." This seemed to move her so deeply that it became necessary for her to steady her breathing. "Hello, my King, you are radiant today."

He took a slow step forward. "I have toured many businesses in my new land, and almost everything in the Council circle, in particular… except for this place."

"Well, I will gladly take you around the house," she clasped a hand at the Mithril tear on her cleavage. "But… we are in no condition to receive a King today. Let us, at least, show you our best face."

His head tipped, inquisitively, "My heart hears such a furor from these walls – merrymaking and despair. Tell me, is there such a face, Nema?"

She smiled at him, brilliantly, through tears. "Oh, my King, there is such joy in your arrival. It, alone should wash away all despair."

He assured her, "It does not." Now the Elfking took another step, and he stopped in a shaft of wintery sunlight that lit him up. "Why do you weep?"

It was easy to forget that the King could sound gentle. Lusis stepped closer to him, drawn there by the aura of his mildness. He didn't consider the Council friends of his, she knew. The King, in fact, had very few friends. But he needed their steadiness and wellbeing on his behalf, particularly when planning things that might shift the landscape of Lake Township under Men's feet.

He'd come to attend to that.

"My King," she wrung her hands and walked almost into him. "I… there are things I would say to you, if you would hear them." Her dark eyes looked up into his silver. She turned and led the way through the door at the end of the hall.

None of the elves liked it. Lusis suddenly understood why. They hadn't been able to look in and assure themselves of his safety. There was no good vantage with a single door that was shut. She stepped before him and followed Nema, a throwing knife from her hip in hand.

But the inside was a mundane sitting room. It faced the Master's house far up on the hill. It was soft red and cream, and thick with furnishings. A harp and pedestal stood, neglected, the King went to it almost by force of habit. His fingers stroked the strings gently, and the sound that touch produced was as delicate as morning dew on cobwebs.

A girl looked up, sharply, from a scroll-fronted, wooden writing desk in the corner of the room. She was young, pale, wore her hair in long black loops, and stared at him from dark brown eyes. Lusis froze, caught in the sudden wondering of whether this young woman could be Nema's daughter.

Nema paid the girl no mind. She stood in between her fainting couch and the larger couch she kept for company, and smiled at him with muted care. She had been practicing. "My King, please make yourself at home here. Please be comfortable." She gestured at the couch.

"He is. When given a choice, elves will either move about or stand," Lusis told the Madam.

Nema's glance in her direction wasn't mild and pleasant, wasn't a matter of rehearsal, it was cutting and resentful. She smoothed this quickly, "I see you've brought your vassal with you, great one."

"One should speak more leniently of the Master of Boats," the King misunderstood, even though Lusis did not. "He is your equal, and you are his." He plucked a harp string with one fingertip and somehow slowed the vibration along the back of his curled fingers.

'Vassal' Kasia shot a disbelieving glance at Lusis. He was unable to accept that the Elfking couldn't see the bitter jealousy Nema felt, and so he chuckled and shook his bowed head. And perhaps the King did see. But he did not draw attention to the discord.

He turned from the white harp with a sigh.

"Do… you like it?" Nema's soft smile was genuine now, and it was possible to see how she must have looked as a girl in her eyes. "I play a little, but, if you like this harp, or any other thing in my power to grant, I would happily give it to you."

"It is sadly out of tune," the King's head turned slowly to the harp.

"Do you play?"

"Not since childhood," he told her, or the harp. It was unclear.

She hadn't known that, and Lusis couldn't help smiling at him, though she said nothing for fear Nema would suffer another outburst.

"What has driven you to distraction?" the King faced her again. "You are not common among the Council members of late. Are we in some discord that, being edhellen, I do not appreciate?"

"No-no," Nema's perfumed hand fluttered up to her cleavage again. "We could not be. I couldn't feel such things where you are concerned."

Lusis actually felt herself do the quick wing-beat of eyelashes so uncommon of the elves, but its impetus had no relationship to anything that would cause such a reaction in an elf, something she could discern from the fact all the Silvan in the room glanced at her. They were lost, but used to it. For Lusis' part, she pressed her lips together and waited for the surge of testiness to pass.

"I'm not angry with you," Nema walked up to the King and stared up at his impassive silver eyes, "That is impossible for me."

The King didn't stir. "I need you… to be steady." He said unequivocally. "Return to my company. Do not avoid these meetings of Council. Let us have at whatever troubles you now."

She looked down at the broadness of his chest and sighed softly. "You are changing this town, my beloved King. There are those who told me that elves did not possess the power to create change. They are old, timeless beings, these people assured me. They are about tradition alone."

"In some things it is so," he told her quietly. "But, no. Elves are catalysts of great change. Or I have ever been."

"I know. I have read the histories and looked for you in everything," she said softly. "And there you are. Named and unnamed. Again and again. Eternal." She reached up a hand and set it on the soft, smooth fabric over the King's heart. She rubbed there gently, like his solidity was the neck of a horse. His silver eyelids sank.

Lusis felt her chin flick to the left, but stopped herself from looking to Ewon. If the King allowed it, why should she impel the Elites to-.

The soft ring of metal came from Nimpeth drawing her fighting knife. "Baw, Nema-dis."

Across the room, the girl at the desk stood up and exclaimed, "What are you doing?"

It was as if the Elfking woke, suddenly. He glided back and glanced around him before he made a lenient gesture at the weapons in the room. "Peace." The ruffling among the elves died away, but not before Nimpeth made a casual glance in Lusis' direction with her lovely brows lifted high. Lusis looked at the patterning in the rug a moment.

The King shut his pale eyes, pressed, as he was, against his limits in toleration. Her human peculiarity pushed at him. When his silver gaze came back into the world, he told her, "I must depend upon you, on your equilibrium in this place. It is what I need most of you. Can you give me that much?"

"I will," she told him. "That and more, if you'd allow. But, for now, I must say to you… the rate of change of which a King is capable may be too much for the forbearance of Men."

"How can that be possible?" the King asked her quietly. "You are here and gone in an instant."

"But the institutions do not change as quickly. Perhaps with elves the constancy is your eternal nature," she suggested, "but for us, it must be in the world."

The King joined his hands. His eyelashes flickered. "What have I done?"

She inhaled. "Nothing intentional, my King… but did you know that I cannot read? Very few in this house can – it is not a luxury of the poor."

His eyes widened a fraction.

"It is true." She told him and motioned to the girl with looping black hair. She had collapsed back into the seat by the writing desk. "It is why I rely upon young women like Eboa here. She is my secretary, rather than one of the common youths working in the downstairs."

The King glanced in the young woman's direction and she bowed to him.

"But it is not possible to lead them, my King, if I maintain such a disadvantage, and so… shall we be left behind in this revolution? The topic is not one that the Master of Forces, or the Master of Textiles find palatable to debate upon. And no one has been sent to speak to my children about an education."

Jan Kasia's head cocked, and it was clear that he'd never considered it needful. "Why would a prostitute have to know how to read?"

Nema's expression hardened in an instant. She spoke to him coldly. "Because we are not livestock. Because we grow old. Because we are also alive."

The starkness of the words so impacted the heart of the King that he was forced to pull deep breaths in order to remain steady. He looked at the woman, for the first time that Lusis could remember, with full compassion. "Yes…. Your staff may learn to read, and you shall be among them. It is a matter of birthright – child of Eru. If you and yours have been overlooked, Councilwoman, I assure you that is not by my intent, but rather, by the careless execution of others."

Tears beaded in her black lashes. "I thought this was another boon not meant for us. Another blessing… whose light would never reach down… into the low people and places…." She bent her head.

The King remained cold. "Nema Aragennya, these barriers shall be removed."

She wordlessly nodded, not looking up. Tears and weeping disturbed elves and she cared for him. Nema was often sharp and hard, like obsidian. But she had always loved the virtue of the King.

"But stand with me in this place, as you have sworn to me you would." he instructed her quietly. This did not return her to reason as he had hoped, but her effort to shield him was real. In fact, there was something in it that reminded him of a young elf, for the King's head tipped right and his voice mollified, "Child, do not anguish."

She set her hand on his arm and no one stopped her this time.

Lusis backed away a few steps and left the room.

Telfeth had gone to the landing. Nema's emotion was too much for her. She saw Lusis and continued on to the floor downstairs. She passed through the hall like a wisp of light. Lusis' eyes widened. "Telfeth, wait!" She hurried, and nearly chased the elf girl.

She found the young elf woman standing outside in sluggish snowfall. She stood at the corner of the house, breathing evenly, eyes shuttered as she composed herself. A man passed her by from the front of the house and clapped his hand against her hip. She stepped out, sank down to interrupt his stride, rose to take his weight, and straightened to throw him out on his back in the snow. It happened so quickly that he blinked in shocked dismay.

Likewise, Telfeth backed away and drew a fighting knife that glinted in the autumn sun.

The man's friends made wide berth around her, and scooped up their burden. They dragged him away, so that the man's heels left drills in the snow.

It was over in an instant. Lusis stepped up beside the young elf whose life she'd once saved, and the elf girl put her sword away and looked at the snow on the cobbles before her. She tried to be… uneventful, which was how misbehaving elves often acted, if spirited Legolas had been any kind of example. By all accounts – by even the Elfking's account to her – the Silvan elf, Telfeth, was an especially gifted warrior.

But now it seemed that she had a refreshingly human way of dealing with her emotions. "Feel better?" Lusis asked brightly.

After a moment, Telfeth admitted, "Yes."

Pity she couldn't take this one back to her troop with her. Lusis peeked across at the deadly and beautiful elf-girl. Aric might kiss her feet.

Telfeth would not stray from her. Elite Nimpeth was usually just out of sight. Lusis went with the King to fulfil his obligations to the life and economy of Lake Township.

She was less guardian, she began to see, than guarded. In the company of the Elfking, the figure most safeguarded by elven Elites, she was secure. Being along with him for the stuff of ruling was odd. He did the business of monarchy without her – she had only the narrowest view into this world. Perhaps he was readying her for eventual coup at Buckmaster Keep. She might be called on to run the Spur. But this sort of rule… it didn't suit her. However, she was in good company. It didn't really suit him, either, at least not insofar as ruling in a world of Men was concerned.

The Master of Forces poured himself a cup of cider and exhaled. "Elves have such odd notions," he smiled at the goblet he topped off and leaned back in his chair to consider the King. "The matter with Nema Aragennya, for example. Why would you think I had anything to do with her curtailing her visits to Lake Township Council?"

"She mentioned you." The Elfking said. "I would like this to be settled. She knows the common people better than most."

"Being one of them," Gurn's brows rose. "And very common herself."

"I need her with us."

"My Lord, there is a growing guild of laborers in town. You should seek a Council member from among them. I know a good man for the job. Quite seriously," He glanced across at Lusis, "You do not want to be known as an associate of that woman's. She is very low."

Lusis blinked at this. Aragennya and her kind were reviled, and the trade was always booming. It was one of the things she found most confounding about the world of Men from which she hailed.

"When the time comes Kasia shall surely entertain a member from the Guild of Laborers. Nema Aragennya holds the part of Lake Township closest to the rolling foothills of Erebor. I am assured that she is the only human power the Men there respect, for many miles. They do not fear the Council. They know and obey me only through her command. I caution you that that stretch in which she holds sway is a notorious bed of disruption to the rest of the population during times of strife." The King's head tilted a fraction in annoyance.

He didn't understand wealth distribution in this city terribly well, though a chart had been drawn up in Council. Or perhaps it was more appropriate to say he didn't understand the reason why certain parts of a human city were more impoverished than others, but he'd made an immediate tie between hardship and a lack of satisfaction with Lake Township. It was that dynamic he sought to influence. He believed that losing Nema from Council would be more than counterproductive to his goals, but that it could spell disaster and dissidence among one of the largest stretches of the Township.

"I will need you to bend in amity and build peace with her." The King directed. "Begin today."

Drivenn made a little moue of amusement and rearranged items on his desk. His voice was patient, "To your second and more important concern. I agree, it does matter. If the criminal element would vanish, and leave us to policing those who deserve protection, that would be excellent."

The King was still in shafts of sunlight, white as a star. Lusis stood on the side of the room, between windows, where she could get between the King and Drivenn if needed. So far, the conversation was touch-and-go.

"They are going somewhere in numbers."

"Are we to look a gift horse in the mouth?"

The King, by now, knew this human saying. He replied. "Once it is your horse, yes. One must know one's means and management. In survival, ignorance is peril. Information is fortification." His long hands folded, one on top of the other, before him, gracefully. "If they go North-"

"Elfking, we don't fuss about with North. That way is Erebor, the cursed-mountain."

"The mountain of the Sounding Forge."

Drivenn's forehead wrinkled, "Whatever that may mean. All I know is that its gates are now peopled with Dwarves from the Iron Hills."

"The mountain is vast and deep. Some small contingent of dwarves could not know all its chambers." Said the Elfking.

"Pity the elves washed their hands of it then," Gurn huffed a laugh. "They cannot set foot inside without fomenting war." He looked up. "The dwarves hate you. Not even just elves. You, specifically. They call you Woodland Sprite and… other things."

"And I do not care," the King said lightly. "Your Forces can venture inside. You are Men. Men are not barred entry."

"I advised the Council that Lake Township sign the non-interference treaty brought forth by the dwarves. They see us as your people, and want nothing of you or your ways. We must start negotiations to go inside – standard processes. It should take only seven or fourteen days."

The King's head swiveled down and left. "Did you advise them to sign such a thing?"

"For the friendship of the dwarves. They are powerful. I wouldn't want them coming into the Township with their displeasure."

The Elfking bared his teeth, but said only, "You are a Captain of Forces, not a maker of policy. That is the province of your King. Do you understand?"

"You weren't here," he sketched an incline of his head.

"Never again be so presumptuous." The Elfking's hands slid to close behind his back, "It will take negotiations to undo what you have done."

"I'm sorry, Elfking," Drivenn's brows went up. "For this trouble." He lifted his cup and sipped the cider inside, unconcerned. Lusis glanced up from him at his guards by the doorway. Very soon, she was going to take offence. She wondered how Drivenn's men could endure Ewon's glittering stare.

The Elfking ignored this. "I can think of certain reasons for the disappearance of those criminal men. Can you?" He paused and added, "I am interested in your explanation."

The man rubbed his face and grinned. "The Forces have been doing raids on their hovels in earnest." He opened his knitted fingers. "Really, Elfking, I've spoken to one of your adjuncts about security in the region. Why are you here? Is it the horsemen in the Flowers of the Forest? Can so few men stir a King?"

Lusis made a guffaw, "These are Men of the Peaks. Ten men wouldn't take one of them. There are twenty of them. It's a force-" She pulled herself under wraps and glanced across at the waiting King.

"Are you unconcerned about these newcomers, Gurn Drivenn?" the Elvenking asked sedately.

Drivenn pulled a small bowl of walnuts across his desk. That they hailed from Mirkwood, was easily spotted, in their generous golden shells and the mild, pale nutmeat they produced. He cracked one in his powerful hands.

The King's expression grew glassine – absolutely congenial. He looked so beautiful in the sun, and no-less-so because the shadows of winter chickadees cascaded around him through the windows. The weather was changeable this late into autumn. But the silence drew out. The guards cringed. One answered a King.

Beyond them, Kasia stared into the room from the promenade of deer heads on placards. He put a hand over his mouth and turned to pace the rug there, uncertain what was happening to his Council, of a sudden.

"Ah," the man nodded at the bowl of nuts. "I see. I see."

Lusis was betting he didn't see.

Drivenn's voice was rueful. "The elves are truly few now," he paused to crunch the nut in his teeth and said, "but we are keeping an eye on them, Elfking. My men are afoot, everywhere. There are more than five thousand in the Lake Township area now... a supplement to your own elf men, who number...?"

The King didn't bite.

"Whose numbers are perennially uncounted to Man," finished the Master of Forces. "But know that you are being protected by the Lake Township Forces."

"That is gratifying," the King told him. "But you have collected numbers on the missing, I am told, and yet this has never caused you to question-"

Another nut shattered in his fist. "Bah. It's late in the year. Why are you pursuing this? You are a great elf, and golden… a sight to behold. You should not worry yourself over such things."

"As my land and my people?"

"These are Men and not elves."

"They are mine."

"They cannot help but be," the Master of Forces gestured. "Look at you. Fully half the citizenry would believe it if I told them you floated off the earth to light the sky at night, and the other half would double-check." The big man sighed. "Elves are good and beautiful creatures. And ethereal. Ah, if you could but see the Queen in Gondor, you would understand why I say this."

"I know the child." The King noted.

He chortled, "Oh, child… I see. Well, she is not a thing of this earth, she is so lovely. But she will not endure. She will raise what half-Men she gets, and go to the West when the King is done. You see, she is stranded. She has come to know this. She is hung up, a jewel of a ladybird pinned in a box – a star on display in white halls. Do you know… she wears that lovely doll-like face of yours," the man indicated the King, "because Men are not like elves, you understand. She loves the King and is utterly alone."

For a moment, Lusis could see the extraordinary beauty of a young elf girl with blowing dark hair. Then her tresses were gathered in and bound up by a golden net, in unfamiliar human style, and instead of elven layers of film, she wore furs and thick human brocade. In the times between her husband's comings and goings, she longed for the sound of elves, for singing, the sound of a heartbeat like her own, and her father's laugh. She missed him like a nut missed its tree, its earth. Her dark blue eyes became dazed and uninhabited. Lusis was stricken because of the sentiment. She looked, suddenly, up at the King.

Whose silver stare beheld her and his lips parted enough to sigh a breath, "Undomiel. Arwen. Elrond's only daughter."

Their gazes held. Lusis wasn't sure what they were resolving to do.

Gurn Drivenn opened his hands. "She is the perfect example. She, all elves, have concerns elsewhere, and belong on other shores. To hold her here, even for love, is cruel captivity. Sadly, the great King of Gondor thought only of his future, his love. Why should we interfere with your business? Likewise," and he tapped the desk with his index finger, "this is the Age of Men. Why should you worry about these lands? You must step aside and allow us to do the work of our Age. You must prepare to leave, like the rest."

Lusis couldn't have hoped to stop the King. He was far too fast.

To her eyes, it was like great energy had shot the Master of Forces straight out of his seat and across the desk so lightly that the cup of cider and shells of nuts were never disturbed. The guards moved for him, and Lusis pulled out her sword and ran at them. She caught one across the knee with her heel, and threw him down in the corner. This was kinder than Nimpeth's overhand throw of the other man down the hallway of stuffed deer heads. Kasia dodged the flying Forces guard with a bleat of dismay. The man landed in a sprawl on the rug.

More came running, but it hardly mattered. The Elfking had already passed the threshold, dragging Gurn Drivenn with him. He tossed the man out into the lawn as if he was no more than a snowball. It took no effort.

"Surround the King!" Lusis barked and pointed upward as she vaulted off the porch after the Elfking. "Upper balconies are-" She drew her sword and struck aside a flying arrow. She didn't need to say more. A section of elves materialized from the rooftop, and poured onto the balconies. One Forces man was thrown off the second floor into a bank of snow.

The King's voice stopped all motion. It cracked through the clearing like the snapping of a great tree-trunk, "You are very fortunate, Man of Gondor, that we are both Children of Eru!" Lusis backed away from the flare of light inside of the King. The snow around him began to steam. "Do not so lightly speak of Gondor's young Queen. She has sacrificed more than you know. She, too, opposed the Enemy and is a hero of the Ring War – your freedom is, in part, owed her. In my lands, you will pay her your respect."

Drivenn scrambled up from the snow, but didn't draw the knife he touched. "Be calm, elf!" He looked up at the balcony above and said, "Calm, all of you!"

Thranduil slapped the man, languidly, so as not to truly damage him.

This shocked Drivenn. He went to one knee afresh, and nearly fell over. His eyes bulged in disbelief. Likewise, Lusis had to restrain Kasia as the Master of Boats came racing down the steps. She caught him with one hand and threw her weight back. He was tall and strong, but untrained in how to use all that power to overcome a skilled opponent.

He stopped and clawed air. "Lusis!"

She pulled him back and shoved him at Amathon.

At the feet of the King, snow melted. He opened his long arms and tapered hands and his voice ricocheted off the groves of fir, larch, and cedar in the yard. "Do not presume to tell me my business, little one. It is my Kingdom in which you dwell, and it is within my power to remove you."

"What would you have me do? Waste manpower on finding missing criminals? Perhaps we can have a festival for their safe return, next?" Drivenn snapped.

"When I tell you to guard, you guard." the King's white teeth flashed. Wood shook. "When I tell you to think, you think."

"Let them be gone! There is nothing to think about!" Drivenn barked.

The Elfking drew back a hand for another blow. But Lusis cried, "Thranduil, no!" She really didn't think ringing the Master of Forces' bell a second time was going to produce the desired outcome.

He didn't slap the man again. Instead, he stepped back. The King's voice was low, throbbing, "This is my land. My own."

Behind him, men glanced around themselves in stark disbelief. The snow had given way to shoots of new grass and mounds of white hepatica. Vines that were cold on the stone wall flushed a brighter green. Arrowheads of narrow leaves sprouted and unfolded out into ivy. As far as could be seen, lawn pushed through snowmelt, and a sudden perfusion of flowers, dewberry, snowdrop, and wagging daffodils, sprang into life along the walk. Roses climbed a low tree to sit in the branches with cherry blossoms.

"This is my land, Gurn Drivenn. You are just in it," the King stood straight. "For now." He glanced across at Kasia. "Tell me, Master of Boats, why might criminals go missing?"

"Death, jailing, reform," Kasia blinked and thought, "uh, imprisonment – we've been doing quite a bit of imprisonment for repeat offenders who will not repair their ways. And…" he flinched and looked at the King. Slowly he said, "And bad business, Elfking."

All at once, the King's fury banked. In fact, he inclined his head in assent at the Master of Boats. "Indeed." He stepped across the green lawn and several small songbirds flitted to chirp and dart to and fro behind him. He extended a hand to Lusis and his long, capable fingers enclosed her sword-hand. "Peace. We have things to see to, little Istari."

She inhaled deeply and capitulated her fit of temper to his will.

Kasia glared at Gurn Drivenn as the King went back up the steps to the Forces headquarters. Behind them, Lusis could hear two things: Kasia liberally chewing Drivenn out, was one, and the shush of Ewon lifting and deftly dropping the King's platinum hair into place was the other.

She glanced at the King.

His silver eyes shut, "I know."

"What do you know?"

Now he shifted just enough to take her in, "What you will say to me. Of my temper."

"Never even crossed my mind, my King," she only just managed not to smirk as she turned away from him, but then sobered. "But I think we should speak to Chief Argus Samas of the local Troop, and to Dorondir."

"Why is that?" He asked softly.

"They've been spying," she glanced up at him, "on the local crime businesses."

His pale, beautiful face dimpled with satisfaction, he was nearly unable to contain. "My clever friend-Lusis, what have you done?"

She shrugged, something that didn't exist among the elves, and so she had to explain, "Uh, it means 'I don't know'."

He actually smiled this time, but at the rugs as they joined the section head in the front hall. "Ah. I see. It is good to know, thank you. Bard of Dale did that a lot, in fact. Generally, whenever I asked him a question, and shortly before he came up with a proper answer. He was… unassuming."

Lusis' brows rose. She wondered whether the King was aware, as she was, that there was a descendent of Bard the Bowman in the High North – Bard was his name, son of Brand. Men said he could rally a Kingdom. But she had enough trouble with Northern men at the moment. Not that her luck with elf men was any better, she realized with a muffled grin, "We should make time, today, to meet with the local Chief about this."

He laid a hand over his burning heart and looked aside at a section elf. "See to it."

"My King, and Lady Istari," the young elf bowed before he turned and vanished out of the front of the wood house. Forces men looked at him – at all the elves – with new eyes, it seemed. Perhaps they had thought that Lake Township was run by Men for Men. But it was a very different reality they'd woken up to. The Elvenking bowed for no one.

Nor, she thought, should he.

Hours afterward, Argus Samas, three of his Rangers, and most of Lusis' troop huddled in the upper floors of the Master of Boat's main building, with rumours of the King's altercation swirling through the floors below them. Lusis went through the congested corridors to pick up a platter of roasted meat with Icar and Aric, who had come to carry up the drinks.

She overheard a bargeman cluck his tongue, "Why would a King get so bent out of shape over a bunch of prostitutes? What odds what they do once they're paid? No one cares if I can read, and I make my money off the sweat of my body, same as them."

The bargemen around him, and the man collecting tithes, laughed at that, because, of course, it wasn't at all the same thing. Lusis looked away.

"Mind your mouth," Aric barked at them.

"That's the King's guard and his woman," said the same bargeman. "She doesn't look elf."

Lusis hooked a hand around either Awnson before they had an opportunity to turn and address any of this. She motioned at the young women setting out platters of food onto sideboards.

"Anything green?" Icar poked through and found a clay bowl of roasted vegetables. He smiled, winked at the girl who'd set it down, and carried it upstairs. It was two more trips before there was enough to feed a band of Rangers. Lusis settled in at the long table upon which someone thoughtful had set a thick tan cloth.

Argus poured wine from a tall, ceramic vessel and settled at the head of the table. With him were Elow Anadol, Arbor Corbury, and Sergus Heath. Of these, Lusis was on very good terms with Elow, who was one of the men who secured the Counting Room. She knew little of Sergus and Arbor, except that they had direct communication with the Rangers who had infiltrated the underworld. She nodded in greeting to them all and Elow grinned at her. He was no longer in the tattered hand-me-downs of his troop, being youngest. But he still kept the gloves she'd once given him.

"Starved," Arbor got to his feet. He was a huge man, and blond. Nearly as tall as the Elfking, in fact, which made him a giant among Men. He went to the platters and began to lift off the lids. "Don't mind if I do."

"I do," Sergus chuckled. "I don't see why you should have the best cuts. What with two Chiefs here and me being your elder."

"'Elder' only counts in inheriting land," Arbor scoffed and ate a chicken heart, "you waste your time pulling that over a platter full of chickens."

"What about the part where he mentioned your Chiefs?" Lusis asked.

Arbor glanced aside at his friend and said, "Fires, man. Why did you have to draw her attention?" He looked at her a long moment. "She looks thin too… and Buckmasters can put away a lot of meat, I hear."

It was the right time for Elsenord and Remee to arrive.

"Gods," said Sergus, "there's more of them."

Arbor wiped his hand in the cloth of one of the place-settings and smiled. "May I say… it is a great honour to have Buckmasters among us! Long have your people charged across the Wastes and scaled the mountains for the good of us all – bringing supplies, reinforcements, and escape with you."

"Once one of you spared me a bottle of milk," said Sergus, and he added, "and a jar of honey."

Lusis grinned at this. Funny as it sounded, there was very little milk and honey in the High North. And she'd heard grateful stories for years from men who had been won over by as little as bags of oranges, or a package of candied cherries, given away out of kindness.

Arbor came around the table, bowed to the Chief – Argus had let them know it was Lusis – and then clasped hands with Remee and Elsenord in turn. Sergus nodded at her. "Chief Buckmaster, there has been some news of your Keep. Do you know it?"

She hardened herself. "Nevrmen Buckmaster, my father, is no more, and his eldest son, Kirstman, is proving a poor replacement."

"Thank the Stars," Sergus put a hand over his heart and offered it to her in relief. "I didn't want to be the one to tell you so."

"She had that lesson the hard way," Aric said bluntly. "But even that isn't enough to stop Lusis Buckmaster. This is the true heir of Nevrmen, she is so alike to him."

Redd nodded from beside the doorway. "Her skills in battle, and in organizing men for such red engagements, are becoming legend. They say the only things sharper than her skills are her wits, so Kirstman fears her. He knew she had to be driven from the Spur."

Lusis, who could take no more of this worrisome conversation, shook her head at them, "Enough. There's food to be eaten." She looked at the Rangers around her like they'd taken leave of their senses. "Food."

Under the sinking of the wan sun, that was exactly what they did, and they did it with reckless human abandon. The door was shut. Utensils were not in evidence. Lusis sat on the table, and so did Icar and Elow. Argus threw still-steaming bread to whomever asked. They talked while they chewed, and, since most of their talk consisted of making good-natured jeers at one another, they laughed and smiled when they felt like it.

Lusis leaned back to avoid a flying roll.

Icar caught it, deftly, "You throw like an archer."

"My mother thanks you," Sergus told him in reply. "Took her years to get me to fighting fit."

Lusis brightened, "Your mother?"

"My father had died, in battle. She wasn't about to let us rot on the vine." Sergus said to her. He looked at her a long moment, grimly, and in a measuring way. Then he raised his cup of wine. "Long live the maids of the North. The unsung heroes. The ones without.

"When the walls are breached, and the Men are dead, they are the final line in the snow. I have seen it. As a child, I lived through the orc-sack of Edrain Peak."

Lusis' troop stopped chewing, and she stared at him. "Argus Samas… my condolences, friend."

"Yes," he nodded at her, suddenly lost in long memory. "There were 350 of us. Not a man walked away. My mother lost husband and all my older brothers. She and her sisters slew close to twelve orcs carrying me out of there that night. That's what they did. The women carried the children and climbed down the mountain."

Redd made a soft sound. Doubtless he had a book on this. But when he looked up, he was far more affected than Lusis had anticipated. "The Northern Hoard was three days' travel."

"Yes, I know," Argus said in reply. "Your father and uncles took us in, Redd Ayesir.

"The oldest boys were fourteen and ten – all others were women and children – and when the Edrain refugees came into the Hall of Knowing, some of the women laid down and died." He nodded at his cup of mead after that. It was something he'd seen in his lifetime and it was burnt into his memory.

Silence fell around the table.

Icar reached across and clapped a hand over Redd's shoulder.

"I used to think of the rout of Edrain as a moment of utter failure. A collapse of Man under the great wheel of evil," said the Ranger Chief. "In these last months, though… I've come to realize that it could not be. At great cost, we lived. I have seen songs written to our brave fathers lost in that battle. But we lived by the blood, hardship, and spent lives of our mothers – of many brave women. That is the invisible truth. So," Argus exhaled and raised a cup, "we should do this now. By all news, it will come to sides. A vote was taken. Sides were heard. The Lake Township Rangers stand with Lusis Buckmaster. She is, by vote of our law, rightful heiress to Buckmaster Keep."

This was unexpected. Lusis glanced across at Redd, who nodded his agreement.

Elsenord spoke into the quiet, "What about the Forces, hereabouts?"

"Under Gurn Drivenn," Argus pulled a face. "He may be a fine hand for the Sea of Rhun, and fair enough in Gondor, but he's walking on bird's eggs here, friends."

Remee spat out a bone onto his plate, his expression utterly flat, "How do you mean?"

"I mean, he came in town, hired on by Cardoc Wence in Council, declared himself for the betterment of Lake Township, and the King," Argus sipped his goblet of wine and set it down empty. "And by King, I mean the King of Gondor, Elessar."

"Oh," Aric winced, "bad plan. Very bad plan."

"I'll say," Elow exhaled and poked at the roasted pork before him. He'd accidentally gotten a bit of yam, and, being Northern, didn't know quite what it was, or what to do with it. He glanced up, "Way he talks about the elves, sometimes, it'll take a miracle to keep someone from the Local Troops from cracking off his boot in that man's-"

"The King slapped him today," Lusis interjected to confirm the rumour that there had been an altercation. "I was there."

Elow beamed and knitted his fingers together, delightedly. "Oh, what kind of a slap?"

"A flat-handed one. Laid him out in the snow."

"Wonder he didn't cave the man's head in," Argus' eyebrows rose.

"He was being gentle," Lusis sipped her wine. "I take it Drivenn won't allow the Forces to weigh in on anything that had a whit to do with the Elfking?"

Argus pointed at her, goblet in hand, "Even so."

"Can you describe the slap," Elow asked her. "Slowly?"

Aric scoffed, "Do you want to write a song about it?"

Long practice with elves kept Lusis from bursting with laughter. Elow was not a fan.

"But, mind you, the only reason the Gents of the Peaks are camping next to your house, Lusis, is because Drivenn is letting them. He's trying to gain them as a cavalry for Lake Township."

"He's a fool."

Argus told her. "In that he poorly understands the Men of the North, he quite is. But he does appreciate that if Bregoln does marry you, it will also increase the chances that he will gain a cavalry. There is no reason to think you will quit your service to the King… or none that I can see."

She nodded in assent. "I will not leave him."

Redd sighed and chewed on this. "Don't let anyone ever tell you that Kingdoms are not held in a woman's hand, Argus Samas. And this is just a mild example."

"I'm not mild," Lusis heard herself say. "Tea is mild."

The door opened. Weapons were drawn.

In the doorway, Dorondir appeared for an instant, and was gone.

A bright green eye peeked around the jam and narrowed. Weapons eased down again. He sidled into the room and said an admonishing, "Ai. Another reason we do not close doors."

"You all right, spy-master?" Argus chuckled.

"If I'd been the King, you'd all be bloodied." Dorondir pressed a pale hand over his heart.

"If you'd been the King, you would have knocked," Argus grinned.

"No, that would have been Ewon's job," Lusis smiled at her fellow Chief.

Now Dorondir came, turned a chair sideways, and folded down into it. He sat on his heels and said, "Forgive me. Edhel spies are called on to do a great many things, almost none of which involve announcing we are on the way."

"You see? Spies don't knock," Argus told Lusis, proudly.

She scoffed, "And, to his point, neither do Kings."

Dorondir spared a glance in her direction. "Why, thank you, Istari." His tone was cordial.

"Of course, friend-Dorondir." She resisted the urge to smile at this green-eyed elf. But it was difficult. She glanced up to see Steed approaching down the hall. With Osp.

"Fires." She whispered. "Dorondir, I think Osp might be your Western counterpart, and he's on his way in here."

"Yes, I know," Dorondir's green eyes caught hers, his oblong pupils opened out as he did so. "There have been… developments, Lady. Have no fear." His voice was hushed as he turned and stepped off the chair to go to the door. "Greetings Inilfain and Osp."

"Le suilannad, Dorondir," Steed said flawlessly. Hanging around the elves was doing a lot for his broken Sindarin. He was pulling the bits together very quickly.

Osp's head tipped to the right and he looked in at Lusis. "Hello, Istari."

She got up from the table – terrible manners among the elves – and Icar scrambled after her. Odd how no one had minded when it was Dorondir. His green eyes glanced back at her and she realized it was part of his skill as a spy.

"Are you feeling any better, Osp?"

He inclined his head in agreement and then went further in a small bow. "Again you rescue me. Le athae. Thank you, you are kind."

Argus looked up at the copper-eyed elf as he came into the room, bent, and studied the tongue-in-groove construction of the table. "What did she rescue you from?"

"Curiosity," he said distractedly. He brightened and sparks shot under his voice, "Oh, this is lovely. What a good piece of primitive construction." He got up and patted the table.

"Primitive?" Argus asked the tall, black-haired elf.

Aric added, "He can't fight, either."

"I can see where you'd need to be protected against yourself," Arbor exhaled and stood up, as they all did, to welcome the elves and son of Tatharion House.

Steed stepped in and pulled the platter of pork in his direction. He picked up a slice and wolfed it down, before pulling Aric's half-drained cup his way. Aric hurried to fill it again. These two were best friends, after all.

Osp watched this with amusement. "Keeping an eye on me must be hungry work." He drifted over to Lusis and inspected a wooden chair.

Dorondir spoke to him in a form of elvish unfamiliar to Lusis and Osp set the chair sideways and folded down into it. He leaned against the back of the chair, now to his left, as if to test its strength.

"Elves have chairs like this." Argus scowled. "The Elfking has a white chair at Jan Kasia's place, none are permitted to sit in when he is away."

"Thand," said Osp, which was the word for 'True'. "But I am six feet and eight inches in height, and Dorondir is six feet and three. I applaud the big one," he motioned at Redd, "for his courage in lounging on such iffy construction."

Redd glanced up, suddenly uncomfortable in the chair.

Dorondir put his head down and huffed with amusement. "Peace, Redd Ayesir." He glanced up and fixed the huge man – even taller than Osp – with a warm expression. "Are you going to let this spoiled elf of Valinor encamp inside that bony head of yours?"

Redd's chair squeaked, and he hopped up and turned it sideways before he folded into it again. All around the table, humans roared with laughter that made both Osp and Dorondir avert their gazes.

"Okay, well, yes then," Lusis rubbed her eyes. She reached a hand and clapped Osp on the shoulder, seeing as he had settled beside where she'd stood to greet him. "No worries, young Bee, there's no harm done. You can't help what you are."

"And what I am not, is young." He looked up at her with extraordinarily innocent eyes. "You simply refuse to believe me."

She smiled at him, in the elven fashion this time. "Take no insult from us, Osp of Valinor. We will protect you. Have we not demonstrated as much?"

His brows rose, "Indeed… and who will protect you? Istari maid. This place is terribly backward."

Argus bristled. "How do you mean?"

"There is a man in the field beside the… the little Master of Boats' keep, and he believes he can take Lusis Buckmaster away with him, even though she does not want that. He believes it."

She blinked, "Osp, how do you know that?"

His copper eyes averted to the right, "I am sorry for bringing this travesty to your table, friend-Lusis. All the sections are talking about it. There is… rage."

Silence at the table, apart from Dorondir whose placid face turned to Lusis. "You are friends?"

The Ranger Chief thrust that question aside, "Rage? There is rage about this?"

Argus sat forward to double-check, "Among elves?" He glanced at Dorondir's serene expression.

"Oh yes," Osp glanced at Dorondir as well. "Fierce, cold, and bright, is the fury of elves. Believe me in this, friend-Lusis, for they will not tell you. But if you care at all, or have ever cared for the brute, you must send him away. Arrows train on him, night and day. Hot eyes watch him for every point of weakness. Ageless blood burns at the mention of his name. They miss nothing."

Dorondir, across the table, popped a slice of roasted sweet-potato into his mouth and ignored the conversation. He looked the picture of conviviality as he licked his fingertip. "Peace. The King has it in hand. He knows the temperament of his people," he didn't look at Lusis, "and he knows that their love for you is deep, friend-Lusis."

"Does he know they'll put an arrow in that man's eye from the opposite shore, for looking at friend-Lusis askance? They have one who can do this thing. Telfeth Damiell?" Osp looked around the table, "He has no friends here, yes, but… he is still alive. Not all problems should be laid low with a weapon. Not all, surely."

Lusis inhaled deeply and saw what she had to do. She glanced at Osp. Her fear had led them to this place, and it had taken this earnest bee of an elf to remind her of what she knew was right. "None may harm Bregoln. I don't love him, it is true. But he is an old friend."

"And better as an ally," Redd said over a stack of pig.

For a moment, Dorondir's teeth flashed in disdain, but his head gave a quick flick and he ate a square of roasted pepper. Apparently, Dorondir had come down on the side of attacking the Men of the Peaks. He glanced at Lusis. "If he should bother you, friend, or act inappropriately, but tell me."

Aric chuckled, "That's the spirit, Dorondir. I'll help-"

"I won't need help." The elf said bluntly, and there was a terrible force of temper behind it, as he carefully selected a slice of orange bell pepper imported from elf holdings in Southern Mirkwood. "Ma. Let us talk about the criminals. The sudden quiet in the North and North East of Long Lake. Sergus Heath and Arbor Corbury, what do your men tell you of that?"

"Whole communities have emptied," Arbor exhaled. "I have been further to the North-West than most, excusing yourself, Lord Dorondir-"

"I am not a Lord. Carry on."

Sergus put in "Well, we can't very well call you Mister. You're an elf."

They made the elf blink. "I am Dorondir Hastion. What is amiss with Dorondir?"

Aric found this funny, and added, "Yes. His parents liked it."

"Like it," corrected Dorondir, nimbly.

"It's your first name," Sergus pointed out. He frowned deeply, and reddened along the cheeks, above his thick stubble, "It… my dear elf, it is not polite to call you by your first name when one does not know you very well."

Osp's lips made an 'o'. Slowly, he leaned over the table to look up at the Rangers, as if amazed they found something rude. And, for his part, Dorondir's apple-green eyes slid to take in Lusis. "Is it so… among Men?" He seemed very worried about this.

"It's complicated, friend-Dorondir." She fought not to have her face slide into the genial expression that elves generally used with one another. "It will help if you tell Men what to call you, if you're going to have dealings with them again."

"You may call me Lord Osp," and Osp sounded somewhat astonished.

Lusis looked at him, sharply, "Are you a Lord?"

He nodded up at her.

She smiled in reply, "Oh, well done, Bee."

"You know my name means smoke and not bee." His head tipped a little.

Lusis consoled, "I'm sorry, friend. Your name has nothing to do with it."

His eyelids made staccato, but he accepted that was who he was to her. Nui. Bee. This made him touch the filmy filigree of golden clasp on his cloak, as if the golden bee had become part of him.

"In any case," Dorondir made his way through sweet-potato. "We cannot assume these men made short-work of themselves. No one here is that lucky in life."

"As you say," Arbor exhaled. "I hear wolves to the North and East. There is no way their attacks could be so calculated. They are dumb animals. They would tear some of these shacks to bits. They do not show signs of being mistreated."

"Winter is coming," Argus put in. "If ever a man is going to pick up and leave, it would be in winter. The cold, here, is crushing."

"That is where many have gone, indeed," said Sergus. "I have men further in – closer to the shores of the Lake, and three in the vicinity of the ruins of Esragoth. Camp Haste is located there, you may not know, Miss Buckmaster."

The elves looked at her. She didn't react to the word 'Miss'.

Sergus noted, "Rich fishing… but there is still a high degree of dragon sickness in that region. Three weeks ago, the population began to fall off. My men were in two weeks ago. Two of them reported that large numbers were closing up their shacks and taking supplies to the South. One followed them along the lake far enough to determine that they mean to walk down to the Old Forest Road ahead of the snow and maybe even a bit further. They have in mind where the river broadens and deepens, and is more like a chain of lakes. That way is better climes in winter. Better forage too. My sources say they'll settle on the edge of the Mirkwood and fish the River. To hunt the forest without permission of the King is a risk. Though it is worth noting… they are remaining in a group for the most part, these people. A kind of community. And that there was talk of petitioning the King for the right to take grouse and boar at the forest's edge."

"Interesting," said Dorondir. "They begin to recognize the power of the Elfking."

"Yes," Sergus noted. "They begin to. I was told a gathering was held in the center of Camp Haste where it was decided that, should a petition be made to 'the great, and fearsome Elfking', none would include any beast wearing antlers or the females or offspring thereof, because they believe you elves of the forest worship deer and elk."

Dorondir actually clapped a hand over his mouth. His green eyes widened.

Osp put his head down and chuckled. "Humans."

"We do not," Dorondir was easily as shocked as Lusis had ever seen an elf. "We do not worship animals in the forest."

Sergus grinned, "Forgive them the confusion, good elf. You do not eat meat, and your King gallops around on that terrifying seven foot elk-creature."

"A great elk," said Dorondir, "there are many in the forest, and they love the King's Light. That is why they serve him. We do not worship them." He shook himself. "But… let us be glad of an explanation for the King at least. We elves… we do not suffer from biting cold or weather, nor hard stone or great heat."

Lusis kept a neutral face: They didn't?

"This justification may never have occurred to us. So… my thanks."

"You are very welcome," Sergus inclined his head, "Dorondir."

The elf glanced at the wine, and Icar poured him a cup that he refused in exchange for a cup of water. He glanced at the door. "He comes."

"He?" Argus asked curiously.

The door tapped and opened to Ewon.

The King stepped in behind, and frowned at the meat.

Lusis felt herself straighten and then, blindly, bow. In fact, Dorondir and her troop had risen to do the same, and, quickly enough, Argus' troop followed suit. She straightened and glanced down at Osp, who hadn't even risen from his seat, and looked on this as if a spectator at a play. She also checked across the table at Arbor, Elow, and Sergus. They were very seldom in the company of the King, if ever at all, and their eyes were wide with disbelief that he'd just wandered in.

His long-coat was the same spotless white as he paced across the room. "Lusis-Istari," he said quietly to her.

"You slapped Gurn Drivenn," Elow blurted before the King could say more. The young Ranger went immediately pale on the end of this.

The Elfking's brows rose. "Do you have an opinion, little one?"

"Not unless his opinion is 'thank you'." Aric pointed out.

The Elfking's silver gaze held Elow a moment longer, as he stepped deeper into the room, then they darted at Lusis again. "My friend."

"Yes?"

He closed his hands before him. Amathon and Ewon took away his white-fur cloak. Nimpeth touched his hair to perfect order and they backed to positions beside the open door. The King opened his hands, gracefully, "Have I missed much?"

"The men of Camp Haste are heading South to warmer climes, my King. The winter is harsh on the bodies of humans. They are afraid of you, but must make petition for enough meat for winter."

"Ah. Do they have families? Children?"

"Yes, Elvenking," Sergus stammered out, and bowed. He looked up, "Yes, glorious one."

"Ah. If they are fearful, and do not petition, I will have sections leave supplies for them." He glanced over the table. "The hungering of children is… unthinkable, if there is some means by which we can intervene."

Silently, Dorondir's head inclined in elven accord.

"Where have you been, Elvenking?" Lusis asked.

The King's head tipped, "The business of a Kingdom."

"Because I've heard that there is some conflict among the elves over Bregoln." Lusis began to bite her lip out of a growing sense of paranoia, but then stopped herself. She had no idea how elves would read that.

The King's eyes shut. His head rose, and he looked across at Osp. "Lusis-sell, do you somehow believe that I do not control the actions of my sections and my patrols? My people?"

"No, I have perfect faith in that," she told him, "but I didn't come here to trouble the elves of Mirkwood, or the Elfking I chose to follow. Knowing they will not act on their anger doesn't mean I don't worry for them, or what could happen if one of them loses their temper." She might have glared at him a little then. When he'd come to live among the Silvan he'd adopted their culture, and they were known for being quick with weapons. That tendency had gone to bed with his even quicker temper. He should have known why she worried.

"Peace, little Istari," his hand stroked air, delicate and powerful in one gesture. "Argus Samas, is there more I should know?"

Arbor's head rose a fraction.

"Yes?" said the King.

"I… one of my men, positioned at the end of the lake and facing old Dale," Arbor rubbed his thick stubble of beard. "He reported a gathering of men going North at night."

"That does not hold with your theory, Lusis-sell. The weather to the North is harsher still, in every other place," his eyes slowly rose to the windows that, even now, painted the tall, pristine canvas of his body with the colours of sunset, "but Erebor."

Silence fell among them.

Finally, the King asked, "And did you tell to her, Argus, the decision of the Local Troops?"

"She knows," Argus nodded and then looked in Lusis' direction. "But she should have known without being told. Where would we be, Lusis Buckmaster, without your intervention?"

She imagined some of them wouldn't have lasted the winter, they'd been so thin and threadbare. Lusis gave a sober nod at him. "Thank you, Argus."

"Any time, Lusis."

The King drifted through the room and began to pull details from the spymasters. Likewise, Dorondir went to Argus' end of the table. He was eager to assist, and, like Lusis' troop, found his King's questions incisive and thought-provoking. They gathered in his light to hear him and learn the news in detail. Lusis turned and set her hand on Osp's shoulder, and he winced even though she was being very gentle. "Steed?"

Steed Roanhead, as he called himself, glanced in her direction, and walked to join her. He bent over Osp, glanced at the elf, and reached in to press his fingers against the great elf's neck. "Osp, you need a new plaster. And a healing."

His wound was fresh yet.

Lusis walked him from Kasia's business and into the main house. She and Steed, who had gone for a healer, settled him onto the cot at the end of the narrow hall. She had learned these were former storerooms that had been made over to familiarize the elves with their human citizens. Lusis stood by as the young healer arrived and peeled back Osp's shirt from his shoulder. The cut had been weeping into the plaster. The issue smelled sharp and bloody.

After a cleaning, a paste went onto it. The wound was topped with crumbled, chalky medicine and a plaster of the same, all before the healer began to push her bright white energy down into the injury. Lusis exhaled softly. "Will he scar?"

"Yes, my Lady," said the small Silvan. Her voice was so high and light that she seemed like a mere girl. "He will scar."

"Please take care of him." Lusis went as far as to clasp Osp's hand and give it to the young healer. "He is far from his friends and his home here. We are all he has."

Osp blinked thickly, having been fed a draught to help him withstand the pain.

The Silvan healer set aside the Western elf's long hand and peered at him. She pushed his black hair with a careful touch, and tucked it behind one of his long ears. "My Lady, I will do as you say. Please believe me." She turned earnest eyes to the Yellow Istari.

Lusis went to the kitchen and paced, waiting for the busy staff, for several minutes.

Shortly after, she departed for the field on the other side of the house.

The Men of the Peaks had a bright bivouac.

Their round tents were off colours. Red-violet. Yellow-orange. Blue-green. It was a harmony of colour in the field. She could see it all because of the bronze fire-sticks – long staves driven into the ground and topped with enclosed bronze fire-braziers. Peaksmen walked their horses, cleaned them, and combed and braided their manes, or tended fires and boiling pots of rabbit stew with root vegetables. She'd come with a bag of salt, berries for Rowan tisane, and a type of peppery spice that grew in the South of Mirkwood. Peace offerings.

Silence fell as she walked among the tents of her tall Northern brothers.

She looked for the white tent that would be Bregoln Fall's.

He was outside, as it turned out, at a game of axes, which was common in the North. It was a simple matter of throwing hand-axes in such a way that they needed to fit through hanging loops of branches that had been shaped so that only specific throws would allow them to pass.

As she waited, Lusis watched Bregoln throw the axe he held. It rose, sank, tipped to the right, passed through the nearly horizontal loop of interwoven twigs, and slammed into the wood backing with a thock. By the third throw, she was suitably impressed.

"Buckmaster," said one of the Men of the Peaks. He nudged her with a sheathed trio of throwing axes, "You can take my turn." He was a towering man, thick-shouldered and intimidating as an over-orc – one of the high ranking ones. But he smiled excitedly, like a ten-year-old.

She accepted the axes and the sudden whoosh of air as she stepped up to the X that marked where the contestant should stand. The muttering died away to nothing. She laid down the bags of spices by her ankle and looked at the three wood loops.

The first was a vertical slat. She pulled out the first steel axe and shifted the weight around. It was too heavy for her hand and arm. She shifted it until she could pinch the blade, and then adjusted that hold. Now the handle pointed upward.

"She's going to hurt herself," someone jeered.

"You'll take your toes off!"

"Quiet," Bregoln said, and then more loudly. "Quiet, now. Let her concentrate!" He nodded at her, suddenly the boy she remembered. His voice dropped low, "Lusis, come now. This game is for grown men, so surely you can do it." He smiled at her.

Lusis did focus. She felt the muscles in her arms and shoulders complain, and first popped the axe in air and caught it to loosen her tendons. On the third catch, she snapped her arm out straight. The steel axe spun through air and slammed into the backboard so fast that it wasn't possible to tell if it had passed through the loop. It was rocking softly. That was the only change.

A cry went up. The Men of the Peaks had long heard rumours about the Buckmaster girl, and were excited to see her handiwork in person.

The second loop was circular. She took a while to line this up. When she threw, the blade made a deep gash in the wood at the top of the ring before it smashed into the backboard.

"Too much power, little Buckmaster," called one of the men at the backboard. "You'll cut the loops and split the board."

The man on the other side laughed, "Shut up, Saltis. She's faster than a tongue of fire, this one!"

The last throw was the nearly horizontal, lower loop. She had one advantage here – her smaller height made the drop at which she would have to throw less extreme. It was very hard to throw an axe so that it sank. One had to get it to turn and drop with proper technique. She wasn't accustomed to worrying about technique over final effect. This took the longest to line up. The crowd of men had doubled. Suggestions came in from all around her.

"Lift your arm up! Keep your elbow straight!"

Muscle fatigue set in.

Bregoln's quiet voice was closer, and she heard him say quiet clearly. "Forget the loop, Lusis. A warg. A warg running at a Keep. Something you need to hamstring."

Her arm changed position and lashed like the head of a viper. She knew exactly how to do what he was saying. She'd done it with throwing knives so many times in the past. The throw cut the loop in half, hit the board, passed through, and the Peaksman named Saltis let out a high-pitched cry and had to leap in air to keep from losing a toe.

"My starlit Mother's teats, woman!" he reeled away and checked his toes. "Fires. Doom."

Laughter belted out of the Men of the Peaks. Bregoln wasn't able to hide his merriment. "Saltis, man, this is an axe-toss, not a dance."

Lusis bent and picked up the salt, Rowan berries, and pepper-grain. She offered all to Bregoln with a smile. "Here, old friend. Since we got off on the wrong foot after so long."

"At least she didn't take your foot off," Saltis panted and showed them the toe of his boot. This renewed howls of laughter, because the leathery toe had a long scratch on it.

Far from finding her clumsiness comical, Lusis winced and apologized for the damage.

Bregoln glanced into the bags and his eyes slid up to look at her. "Lusis… thank you." He nodded in her direction and then turned to a young man who stood nearby. "Take this to the cook. We've had a windfall of kindness from the Buckmasters, it seems, even in this faraway place."

He saw the salt and smiled up at Lusis. "Beautiful-miss, thank you."

The bags were whisked away, which left only Lusis, Bregoln, and a hoard of Peaksmen to deal with. She inhaled deeply. "We need to talk about this situation, friend of mine."

"We should," he agreed with her and looked around him. "You lot, scatter. The miss wants to have words." He couldn't quite call her 'the missus' yet.

As the men cleared away, Lusis sighed and glanced up into Bregoln's warm, dark eyes.

"You are here…" he predicted, "to tell me No."

"Yes," she said quietly. "I am. I don't think you understand my position, Breg. I don't know you. Not anymore. Believe it or not, you do not know me, and these things do matter."

He paced beside her. "Time? If I gave it time and we were to… keep in contact?"

She shook her head, "I don't know the future, Bregoln. Just now."

"Ah," his lips pressed into a line. "It's the elves-"

"No, it's me," she told him immediately. "Do you understand? Me."

"I… don't know if I can accept this," he swallowed hard. "I had built such a world for us… inside of my thoughts, Lusis Buckmaster. I have such a life planned."

She nodded in response. "Me too. For myself." She thought of the summer wind rising from the South, scudding for miles through treetops, carrying the scent of Southern groves, and mingling seeds as it fell down the deep divot of valley carved by Forest River. In her head she felt the shafts of light through the Great Gallery, and ran through the trees with sections of elves, all of them free, all of them racing along with the King's Tour of the Great Greenwood kingdom. Her chosen life. "I have such plans."

He had stopped to watch her eyes. Now he pushed back the flap of the white tent. "Will you come in, Lusis?"

"No, I will not," she shook her head. "I can't risk the rumours, and neither can you, Bregoln. You must leave this place as I ask you to, and be careful."

"Why?" he withdrew into the tent. "I can handle myself, Lusis. You must know that."

"You can't handle the armies of Mirkwood," she muttered and then called out to him. "Stars, how can it be all these years later, and you still cannot listen."

He laughed and came back to the flap of the tent. "You're sure you won't come in for tea? Now that you've brought the Rowan yourself? We can try to remember one another…."

She averted her gaze, an action that was becoming innate to her among the elves. It was the most polite means that her body know of saying No.

"Lusis-sell," came a voice from the darkness between tents. She heard the soft creak of a bow from another direction and glanced around. Then she noticed that Bregoln did not. Her name had been spoken into her mind. He hadn't heard it.

"I need to leave," she told him. "You need to leave as well. Point your horses' heads away from this place, my old, dear friend. Think of me no more." She started to turn away, but he caught her by the hand as she did so and she turned and stepped to him, more to shield him from arrows than anything else. There was a flicker of motion in the tent behind him. Elves. Elves had gotten into his tent.

They were fatally close.

"Bregoln, my friend, on pain of death, let me go."

He pressed something into her hand. "Take this. Think for a while, but take this, Lusis Buckmaster, and realize that this union you push away so fearfully… it is blest by the first man ever to earn your respect. Think…."

A cloaked shape loomed out of the darkness, elf-steel in hand, close behind him.

She stepped back and looked into her hand at a chain and a single ring. She didn't recognize it at first, but then turned it over so the stag signet faced her – white antlers cut in silver and laid into gold. A single blue star sapphire between them. Lusis felt her forehead crumple with a rush of sudden emotion. She hadn't seen this on her father's hand since she'd been a child.

"Think it through, little Buckmaster," Bregoln called after her as she walked out of the circle of tents. Lusis squeezed her fist around the only thing of her father's that she now possessed in the world. She fought emotion, aware she was silently surrounded by a section of Mirkwood elves. At the top of the field, before the gates of the King's Beech, she stole a look at the ring again, and her eyes filled with tears in spite of herself. They ran down her black eyelashes and leapt into space as if they had a life of their own, and were beyond her control.

The hand that closed of the back of her bowed head was elven.

"You weep."

The compassion in the voice felt like the warm fog of a hot bath. It made her quake.

"Lusis-sell, my star, what has happened?"

For a moment, she honestly couldn't answer him. Though the will was there, the mechanisms would not permit it. Her throat didn't even try. Finally, she opened her hand and pushed it out into the moonlight. "My father gave this to Bregoln Fell… when I was a girl. He gave it back to me just now."

"Your father," Dorondir's long hand closed around hers. The Kingdom had been told that Lusis Buckmaster's father had, just weeks ago, taken his last breath of the High Northern wind. Now the elf spy's hand shifted to cup beneath the Istari's, as she was shaking and he wanted to be mindful, in case the ring happened to dislodge. He could catch it.

She continued to quake and his forehead bent to touch her right temple. "I am so sorry… but the King summons you, little one. Can you go to him?"

For a moment, it honestly felt impossible to stir a step from the gates of the Silver Beech. Lusis curled a hand around the barred steel gates, cold as the doors to the Spur, and held tight. It felt as close to her King as she had the power to venture. After some moments, she leaned against the spy and said, "Maybe in a minute."

She made no attempt to move.

Dorondir did not care. He stood by with thought to what might be right for a human, what might be comforting and yet not indiscreet. He rubbed her bent back as one might an elf child. But then simply curled that arm around her and set his chin on top of her gold-threaded head.

He sighed deeply at the warmth of her, and shut his green eyes.

It could wait, he decided. It, and all, could wait.

Full darkness fell.

The moon and stars were out. They lit a way across the snow as kindly as could be managed. This was good, because she could bear no further shocks, tonight. Her father's ring bounced against her chest as she came up the stairs.

Between her ears there was only the white noise of a distant mountain, and a distant childhood.

At the door to the Keep, Ewon waylaid the spy who walked beside her. This bothered Lusis, in a distant way, because Dorondir had been so kind. The inside of her mind was sore, like a deep stone bruise, and she felt she needed careful handling. He was a tender being.

She went into Kasia's keep, well and truly exhausted.

Steed came out to greet her and froze in his tracks. "Is… is someone dead, Lusis?"

"Not tonight," she said dully. "How is my Bee?"

"Sleeping." Steed bowed to her, "I advise you try a full night of the same, Chief."

"I will. And you should too," she told him on her way up the stairs to her cot.

She began to feel slightly more alive, more in the present, as she went up the stairs to where Amathon watched her.

"Istari, are you injured?" he asked.

He said it so kindly, but she was too tired for the complexities of elven politesse. She simply shook her head and left him to find a resource who might know what that meant. Was it Yes? Or was it No? The elves had no equivalent.

Nimpeth and Telfeth inclined their heads as she went by.

Merilin was in the hall, beside the King's open door, and he bowed to her.

Inside the room, moonlight flooded near darkness and the Elvenking of Mirkwood paced pitiless circles into the boards. In fact, the furnishings had been moved into the middle of the rug – the bed, the end tables, hemmed by the two wardrobes at angles, like the whole affair made the shape of an arrow pointing at the back wall. All so that the Elfking had unobstructed room to pace. Around and around he went.

She stood in the doorway and waited for him to notice her. She felt numb for whole minutes, until curiosity got the better of her. He didn't.

He didn't notice her.

She had no idea what to make of this.

Lusis leaned back in the doorway and looked to Amathon. "Should I leave?" she whispered. What did one do when the elf in the open room did not acknowledge one's presence?

Amathon had no idea. He gave up and bowed to her.

Well.

That was unhelpful, and, with a kick of concern for her King, Lusis went into the room. On his next circuit along the margins of the rug, he was forced to pull to a stop because she was there, directly in his path. His silvery eyes looked down at his right. His lovely face was still. The light in his chest roared from inside the base of his throat, and lit his eyes from the inside so that, even averted, she could see the glittering through his eyelids and lips.

It was as if she was a dropped arrow, now reset. Everything fell away from her but the immediate and urgent need to care for this elf. She sucked a steadying breath. "What's wrong?"

He said nothing.

And when he said nothing, she speculated. Panic stabbed at her, "Gods, is it Lord Elrond?"

"No, he is recovering. He… he may be up and around again by morning," the Elfking glanced at the doorway, and the human servant there. "Wine. Something particularly delicious. For us both."

"I'm on duty," Lusis told the King.

"Fires," he snapped, "Are you ever not?" He strode around her and resumed pacing. It was very irritating to him when she stepped into his path again.

"I am always on duty where your safety is concerned."

"I am your place of work," he said sharply, and threw off his circlet in disgust. It bounced across the bed and Lusis scrambled to catch it before it could crash into the headboard. It was so beautifully made. She didn't want it to take damage, or for the sheerest aquamarine stone it bore to dislodge.

Her sure hand snapped it up and she turned to him. The King had tugged his white-blond hair over one shoulder and into his fist. He twisted it absently. She'd never seen him do it violence like this unless he stood ringing water out of it.

She glanced back down at the scintillating parchment the circlet had bounced across on the bed and she froze. She didn't read elvish by any stretch of the imagination… but she did notice the name of her father. On the bottom line, the name Nevrmen Buckmaster had been signed. The seal of the King was impressed beside it, alike to the lozenges of the Elvenking that occurred widely in Lake Township now. The parchment was so beautifully illuminated. The first elven letter at the top right of the page was so beautiful that it looked like embroidery, and it shimmered like a butterfly wing.

She didn't realize what this document was until she saw her name, Lusis Buckmaster, rendered in expert elven hand, and then, beside it, her name in elvish, she presumed, seeing as the name of Thranduil Oropherion was written in both Westron and elvish.

"Uh… my King?"

He ignored her.

"Is this the contract you had drawn up by… by Eithahawn?" She pored over it, not understanding the elvish, realizing that Remee or Elsenord had signed her father's name to it quite recently, and that there were no other names on it but her own and the King's.

A wave of dizzying cold passed through her veins. "Oh."

She looked up at him, full of pity. "Maybe Eithahawn misunderstood?"

"No," said the King, quietly. "He will be here shortly to explain. I have sent for him. But there is only this contract, Lusis. Jan Kasia's men carried it alone on a barge to here. They knew its contents were important. It was hand-delivered by Argus Samas to Jan Kasia in the morning. Kasia, in turn, delivered it unopened to Ewon. Likewise, Ewon carried it, sealed, to Remee and Elsenord Buckmaster. They signed it at the desk in their room, dried it, rolled it, and Ewon sealed it with wax and my signet, as instructed. It was set upon my mail tray and has endured there until I opened it in the Hall below. And so I did, with Jan Kasia and Cardoc Wence on the hide couch, both of them tirelessly regaling me about proper methods with which I should have censured a Master in Lake Township."

She actually felt a nerve-twitch of smile, "Are they upset you slapped the Master of Forces in his blow-hard mouth?" Lusis sat on the bed and considered the document and the circlet she held. She pressed a hand over the ring on the chain Bregoln had given her and thought how they were alike. The ring had come down from Nevrmen, and the circlet from Oropher.

The King undid the catches at the throat of his long-coat with a graceful flick of his wrist. "Oh, they have endless advice about it. Subtle. Veiled. Implied. Direct. I thank the stars I didn't cut off the man's head." His hands made a gently emphatic elven gesture.

One of the human staff stumbled on his way, but the King ignored this.

The great coat came off in the next few paces, and it tumbled to the floor in a silver perfusion of gleaming fabric. Normally, the light shirt would be underneath – the one that showed off his shoulders like a breastplate would – but this was winter. He had a red silk shirt, expertly tailored to his figure. She looked at the floor. He was exquisite. Best not to dwell on that.

"So," Lusis cleared her throat. "This is a ploy, as you recall. This was simply a means to protect me against Bregoln Fell. Which is good. Because he is disinclined to give up and go away. Even at my request to him." Her fingers played with the ring she wore on the chain. "Nothing has changed."

He shook his head and his hands drew up to curl one above the other, over his sternum. In the same way that Men crossed their arms on their chests, and it was a form of defensiveness, that more subtle motion of joining hands above the sternum was the same of elves.

"Something… has changed," she realized. Lusis glanced down at the contract and thought aloud, "Because… because you meant for me to contract with Eithahawn or Legolas…." Her eyes widened. "This contract, you meant for it to be honoured."

Lusis shot to her feet and the King looked away from her as he paced.

"Oh, so I'm no longer traded away to Bregoln by my father, I'm now traded away to the sons of Thranduilion by a King." She growled at him. "And what odds which son, so long as you can maintain control of me, right? What odds as long as you could tie me to the Mirkwood, seeing as, for some reason, my word alone is not enough." She was shouting at him by the end.

He swept over to her, and his teeth flashed inches from her face. "You said this was your home. This place." He indicated the Keep, but meant Lake Township. "And have I not given you a place to live, Lusis Buckmaster? Can you not dwell there and be free of any responsibility to me, and all that is mine? Do not act as if I've trapped your very soul. These are but words on paper. Paper is nothing before the fire of an Istari."

"Then why are you pacing your way through the rug, Elvenking," she snapped up at him.

"Because this is a cruel joke of my son's. I am beside myself. I already have a wife, and she-" he bit and then fell back from her. He backed away. His shoulder struck the post of the bed with a painful crack he didn't seem to feel.

Lusis got up, tugged her shirt into place, and turned toward her King. His head was down. Carefully, she advanced on him. She kept her voice low and soothing, and ignored Ewon's presence just outside. He stood with a pair of other seasoned Elites she could remember from Thranduil's bloody coronation. She pushed them out of her mind, and mentally shut the door to the room.

It was important that her voice be soothing, "I'm sorry. You're right. I understand." She saw him meet the wall and rest his palms against it. He still didn't look up at her, "It's all right. It will be all right."

"I want," he pulled a steadying breath, "so very much," his white-blond hair bounced down from his shoulders, "to trust you."

Having come to a stop before him, she simply reached out and stroked his bowed head. His hair had a ridiculous smoothness. It was soft in the way of ermine or down. And his sharp little ear-tip was shell-coloured and warm under her palm. It put a sudden smile on her face. She brushed his long hair behind it, but its volume slid over in a shining cascade. "Don't you agree, given how short a time we've known each other, that trust may be asking a lot?"

"No," he said dryly. "You do trust me, Istari. You… in perfect faith, gave yourself to the royals of Mirkwood in contract. You did not suspect me." He added onto the end of this, "I am sorry, Lusis Buckmaster. I am a King these many Ages, and a King looks upon his people and he seizes every advantage."

"All I can do… is try to understand," she raised her opposite hand to his hair because it was jealous of her right. Each stroke was cool and calming. Each strand seemed lit with fire. "But you need to start sharing these things with me. As surprises go, some of them are inexcusable. Do you follow?"

His head rose a little.

She stopped stroking his hair.

He made a soft grumble at this.

Lusis blinked and started up again. Maybe she wasn't the only one who found it comforting.

Eventually, the King sank down the wall, and she rolled her shoulders and sat down beside him. It was remarkable, looking at him, how very long his legs were. His silver eyes slowly closed. She half-turned to hook a hand over his shoulder and rest against him. The scent of his forest skin was a line written somewhere in the cataloguing of peace. She shut her eyes and rose and fell to his breathing.

At some point later, she felt him stir to say, "Softly. She is sleeping."

The muffled clack was a tray settling down beside them. The voice was very quiet, as directed, but very genuine and full of curbed emotion. "My beloved King."

"Go, my Ewon. Take the wine away," said the Elfking. "And… I do not wish to be disturbed."

The Elite gently refused. "Baw, I shall not, my King. You should both be in celebration." There was a quiet shuffling to order, and then the warmth of his words. "My congratulations."

"Ai. Alas, felicitations are not in order." The King murmured. "For she has not decided herself."

"Has she not?"

There was silence for a moment. Long enough for Lusis to drift.

Then, cautiously, the Elite asked his lonely mountain of a King, "Are… are you at peace with it?"

There was a pause before the King said, very faintly, "I must trust. I must trust to her and to her decision." She felt him stir as if to glance her way, "Ewon… be aware… Ithileth… my wife, my world… it is not over." There was a tight, airless moment during which she could taste his bitter pain, and his next murmur was full of hurts and suffering, "Ah, but can she have meant for me to face all of this… alone?"

Ewon's voice was soft as snowfall. "Oh, my beloved King, she could not watch you suffer. She could not wish you a moment's hardship. You, alone these Ages. I cannot imagine her dread."

The King's breathing ticked up, "Fires. What do I do?" Lusis started to surge toward awareness because her King had begun to move.

But Ewon must have stilled him. "No, young King. Stay your flight. If only for the company of her caring heart, I pray you maintain this contract with the Istari."

She drifted again, while there were no words, and the King's breathing began to even itself. Then the King whispered, "It is for her to say. To stay… or not to. And so will go my will."

"Rest," said Ewon's distant voice. "Rest and heal. Rest-"

And Lusis had had a very long day. So when she heard those words, she slipped into a dim and fire lit hall at the top of the world. The grotesque of shadows on the ceilings, they were old friends. Her father threw them off, so close to the fire. He stepped awkwardly back and forth with a spindly and sleepless girl standing on his insteps and staring up at him. He was singing, with his gruff voice, an old song in elvish. Her Istari ears understood the words now: Oh, my little fingertip, my little slip of girl / oh, Eru's tiny melody, you are your father's world. 'It will be all right, you will sleep safe tonight,' he added onto the end of that.

She didn't know what to do about the King.

Maybe Lord Elrond was right in these things.

Maybe there was nothing that could be done.

When it came to Thranduil Oropherion.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

She woke up with a jolt and reached for her sword.

It wasn't where she always left it.

Stars, forget the sword, she couldn't even find the edge of her cot!

Her eyes opened. She blinked at the pink sunlight, crumpled in rose sheets.

Warm. The bed smelled like rain on pine-trees. Her eyelids snapped open, and her eyes slid toward the sound of water sloshing and the ringing of elvish voices.

"No," the King broke into Westron. "Finding the target is made more complex by what she did, Lord Elrond. It was inadvertent. You have my deepest apologies that I have yet been unable to deliver you from this yoke of suffering. She healed me quite without warning."

"It is to be expected," said the Lord's low voice, which, nonetheless, hummed like a tuning-fork struck in the dark of her skull. Elrond was resonant in all he was and did. Even so hushed, his voice struck a deep bell, softly. In contrast, the Elfking's whispers were the rustle of leaves in the wind, as if, in the pair of them, a cataract of waterfalls met a tower of forest.

And she was just a human girl on the Elfking's bed. Uncharted territory. Very probably dangerous. Stars. Her cot was deserted. Her troop had to be wondering where the Fires she was. They'd be looking for her by now. Stumbling around, bumping into one another-

Was the door open?

Of course the door was open.

She shut her eyes and gritted her teeth: Elves.

The Elfking sloshed water. "To be expected? Are you so sure?"

"Confidently so," said Elrond.

"I find that… unlikely."

"It is simplicity," said the Lord, and his words slowed. "It is impossible to miss her feeling."

"Feeling? She is fitful. I can't say what to expect of her from moment to moment."

The Lord Elrond's voice jumped with delight, "How exciting."

"Ah. You gloat." The Elfking sighed, "Would you, perhaps, like to add an allegory here?"

"Well, the Elfking is rather hard to predict, himself. Ask his sons, his people, his allies, the Men of his new territory, the elk, any other living beast-"

"His enemies," added the King quietly. "Ask his enemies."

There was a moment of silence. Elrond sounded dissatisfied, and somehow, abashed, "I… cannot be used to pinpoint the enemy."

"It is through no failing of yours that this has come to pass," a great rush of water signaled the King getting out of the claw footed tub. "She had no intention of harm. She will deliver you today, if she can… in fact, that may become our best lead, given the circumstances."

She managed to turn off her waking mind for a time, helped along by the shushing of fabric against flesh and the fact it was followed by the familiar sound of a flurry of combing.

The King's voice poured over Sindarin elvish for a moment and he exhaled. "To track a target across such a swollen maze it is helpful to triangulate."

"So we are defeated," said the Lord.

"Mm," the King's voice throbbed low, "not precisely. When the enemy is still in tall grass, what we need… is a spark." His voice was alarmingly close to the bed when he said so.

He was probably coming to pick up some article of clothing or other that he'd left there.

Something gentle brushed her arm.

Fires.

Lusis balled up and pulled the blanket she lay on over her head.

The King's voice was calm, "Lusis-dess?"

"I'm not here," her voice was muffled by soft fabric as she said it. But then she felt like a fool for hiding in his bed and sat suddenly up.

She was treated to the sight of three elves – the Elfking, Ewon, and Amathon – all of them frozen with their heads askance, but all tipped in different directions. No one dared make expression. No elf spoke. Then Amathon glided in. He bent beside her for a confidential moment during which he assured her, "Friend-Lusis, you are, indeed, here." He stepped back, quite earnest, with the soft head incline that equaled a nod among elves. Then he smoothed his soft green long-coat – he looked very official today.

They all did. There was Ewon in a long-coat of deep burgundy threaded with copper. Gorgeous.

And, gods, they were baffled. It made her chuckle.

She put her head down so they wouldn't have to deal with her irrepressible emotion.

"Is she well?" called the Lord, Elrond.

The Elfking said, "I… do not know how to answer the question." He glanced to either side of him and Amathon and Ewon withdrew together and stood just inside the doorway.

"Lusis-dess?"

She looked up at the Elfking's silver eyes. "Lusis-dess, not Lusis-sell?"

"Young woman," he said.

"Congratulations, Lusis Buckmaster," said Lord Elrond. "In his eyes, you are an adult."

Her face flushed mightily. "Nooo…" she looked at the bedsheets around her. She had clothes on. She was well aware nothing had happened. "My Lord, I think you misunderstand what's come to pass."

When she looked to the dark-haired elf, she was surprised to see he was seated and wrapped in the white fur cloak that had been presented to the King. His skin was papery. She stood up on the bed, happily still dressed, though without her elvish boots. "Lord Elrond, you are so pale."

"I will endure," he said patiently. "May I congratulate the young Istari?" His eyes crinkled in a smile he spared for her.

"For the King's contract?" Lusis walked down and stepped off the end of the bed. She dropped to the floor with the grace of a bird. "No, my Lord. It's tactical. It's a shrewd maneuver of the Elvenking's. And don't you think you should be resting, rather than spending your energy celebrating a gambit of ours? Better yet, you should let me help you."

For a moment, the room was as silent as the vault of Erebor had been, the night she'd gone in. Then the only sound was the flutter of the Elflord's eyelids. The Lord glanced from Lusis to the Elfking. He shut his eyes and bowed his head, "I see."

"Good, then let me help you. Then you can rest and heal."

The Lord averted his gaze. "Glorfindel… perhaps some air. Please."

By the windows, the huge, blond elf touched the draperies back into place and came to his Lord's summons. "Are we ready?"

The Lord of Rivendell looked to the Elvenking a long moment. "We are, yes."

The Elfking made a slow incline of his head. The cloak was lifted up and wrapped around Elrond's shoulders. Glorfindel helped the Lord to his feet so that he could make his way out.

Lusis turned, perplexed. The door to the room shut behind the last exiting elf.

She had to face the King. So she did. Lusis felt that sizable part of her that was Chief of a troop come to the fore as she looked at him.

The King was… resplendent was the only word she could find that qualified. The outfit was layered and long. The outer coat was so pale a blue it might have been white. It was shot through with silver threads of wind and a flurry of white snowflakes magnificently dotted with crystal. When he crossed the room to stand with her, she could see the thin long coat underneath was silver with a pattern of white pine-needled limbs embroidered, and innermost, the thinnest long coat was a chill blue with snowflakes covering it in painstaking detail. He was exquisitely turned-out. His hair was still wet against him. She glanced at the bed and found that there was a strange crown there. It was woven Mithril and rose into stylized antlers.

"What's that?"

"That is the Circlet of Rhiwaras – The Winter Deer." The King glanced over it. "It was once presented to King Bard by the elves of Mirkwood. I do not know that he wore it in his time… he was a modest person, self-effacing and full of mercy. It was presented to Kasia by those few Men who still dwell at the point between the ruins of Esragoth, North on the lake, and the ruins of Hale."

She cocked her head at him, "Did the Kingdom grow? Overnight? Did your Kingdom grow?"

"I have not claimed the lands that far," he had yet to look at her. "But, ma, they wish to claim me. I should know by late winter if they should be gambled upon, or if I should urge them to melt into the population here. If they will have it."

"They have more reason to love you than most," Lusis pointed out. "My mother – Mellona – her people dwelled among them…. Which may work in our favour if we are forced to stand against Kirstman in Buckmaster Keep."

Now he glanced at the circlet himself. His voice was subdued, "How political of you."

"We… we have a plan," she said slowly. The King was in a strange temper and she didn't want to upset or anger him. But she was becoming increasingly tangled in the buried lines of his intentions, unable to see them in the closed darkness of his heart. "Is this not a plan?"

"Yes," he assured her, "it is a strategy, Istari."

She sensed something else on the end of that pronouncement, unsaid, and she felt her lips press into a line. "Look at me."

His head rose first, and then she watched his pale eyelashes lift, and under them, such crisp and beautiful blue-moon eyes. He said nothing. He was overwhelming.

She sucked a deep breath through her teeth, "Did you want this contract?"

The King's silver eyes averted at once, and the hands curled at his sternum, now pressed over his heart. But the firelight inside of him, she could see that very well, and it leapt from a golden tongue of flame to a sudden spiral of white fire. She took a step forward and set her hand over his, where they were crossed on his chest. His fire rushed toward her in a flood of extraordinary light. Her starpoint answered back as if the sky parted with a volley of sun.

Neither of them breathed.

Eventually, Lusis nodded, "I will stand with you. As long as we stand." She looked at his pale face, "I will protect my home, my people, and you. My King. My own."

His pale fingers moved. He covered her hand in acceptance.

The stone inside of her began to melt away into fire and gold. Her fingers flexed over, and under, his. "I suspect this is going to be an eventful day." She said as she stepped back and looked at the incredible creature now, somehow, indelibly linked to her. Lusis recognized it was not a matter of paper and signature. That could, and would, go to ashes in a brazier as soon as this mess with Bregoln was over. But nothing could erase the fact their fires knew one another. They reached for one another. And in that airless, timeless span where their lights brushed, nothing was missing. Nothing was wasted.

"About… being political," his silver eyes rose. "I hope you can forgive this."

"Ah," Lusis winced and pressed her fingertips to the bridge of her nose. "Elrond is a wise edhel. What now, busy-head?"

His brows rose. "Perhaps it's better seen than told?"

She had a sinking feeling as she followed him to the door. Out there things weren't as simple as matching fires, simple faith, and love. Out there was the rest of the world. And things outside that door were complicated. He set a hand on the latch and she shook her head, No.

Long practice let him properly read this wordless human gesture.

The King waited.

She gathered herself, hastily, and tried to plan what she would say to her troop, to Icar, and gods, Dorondir – she didn't know what to say, or how to feel, when she thought of him.

The King's head tipped. "Lusis-dess," he said, "you are as you should be. Don't be afraid."

"Just a second." She crossed her arms under her breasts with no way of knowing if he could read that signal too – the insecurity in it.

"You are not alone," he told her. "And, yes, I know that is the crux of the problem. But, let me assure you, it is also the solution."

She looked up with an inhalation, the daughter of generations of Buckmasters, an invisible girl exposed on a mountain that had long ago fallen out of memory. A child delivered from death by shepards. The Yellow Istari. She'd overcome so much. What did she have to be afraid of?

The elves.

That's what.

There were seven of them. All of them small healers. They washed her – scrubbed her within an inch of having skin, twice. She tried to explain to them that it wouldn't matter how much they washed. She, at basic, was a deep and rosy tan. That didn't slow them down one whit. They washed her hair several times. Then they painted it with warmed oils and washed it a final time before putting it into elven plaits. Where it would not fit the proper structure for elven hair, it was trimmed. They spent endless amounts of time on her skin. Cleaning it. Plucking it. Covering it with wax and stripping it. Rubbing unguents into it.

"You must be working up quite a sweat," she growled at one of the slender elf girls.

"It is effortless," she said brightly.

Lusis slunk down into the thick robe they'd wrapped around her, secure in the knowledge these girls were stronger than any human and utterly tireless.

They clipped and buffed her nails and covered them in oils they rubbed in.

She came out of all of this stinging slightly, and smelling like honeyed lily and candied fruit.

Lusis took one look at the extravagant dresses and glanced around her for rescue. So much for 'You are not alone'. She pulled a deep breath and called out, "Elvenking, I am not wearing a dress!"

"Ah," came Amathon's merry voice from the hall. "My King, this is your lucky day."

Lo and behold, the deep, beautiful ringing of elven laughter rose – there were Elites there, or perhaps a section. There was some large number present. Lusis slapped her forehead with the palm of her hand.

The Elfking sent in Nimpeth, which was like sending a jar of water to a girl thirsting to death on the Southern salt flats. "Nimpeth, for the sake of pity, I don't want to wear these-" she glanced over the filmy creations, the likes of which belonged on Galadriel, all of them shape-hugging.

The elf-woman's blue eyes lit up. "Ai, you look like royalty!" She covered her lips with her fingers and then called out to her father and husband, "Ada and melabenn, she looks like a fiery young queen… and if you could but see the dresses they have made."

A jar whose lid required a grisly amount of force to remove.

It took a half an hour for Lusis to convince them to put her into an outfit similar to the one Telfeth, now standing in the doorway and fairly bouncing on her toes with excitement, wore. There had been some speculation she would behave this way, so, while it was a Scout's uniform, it was not made of standard cloth, and not the standard black and white of winter. This was a rich golden red with yellow worked in through the threads.

She drew the line at the hair-piece they tried to put into her braid. It was a half-circlet not unlike something that Eithahawn might wear, though more modest. It was a fine silver crown of mistletoe covered in silver leaves and berry pearls. They lifted it at her several times and she said No.

"Just my sword," she pushed past them and snapped up the sword and sheath that Telfeth held. The young elf girl inclined her head. This was not an improvement on Lusis' day.

She stepped out without warning. Elves stood in lines along either side of the hall, and they fell silent and still as she came out among them.

Her skin was much darker than their own, the gold insinuating itself into her hair made it look as if yellow ribbons had been plaited into her dark braids. She stood in the winter sun and elves stared at her, wordless. She wondered if she looked foolish to them – a girl pretending to be an elf. Lusis pulled a deep breath. Amathon, by the door, stepped out and inclined his head to her. "Lady, would you like to see the King?"

"To put it mildly," Lusis headed down toward the staircase.

He was by the landing, and turned from the window as she approached.

His eyelids fluttered and he straightened in surprise when she headed for him. And, though she would show no outward sign of this, Lusis doubted she would ever forget the sudden innocence in his face on that moment when he saw her again. That sweet expression slid aside as he stepped up in front of her. He inclined his head slightly. "Ma. And now… now you know my pain."

Fires.

She smirked because she couldn't outright laugh in this company, but then smoothed her expression again, and sighed. "Please tell me the rest of the day will be easier, and that I may happily fade into the background where I can protect you?"

"Ah." He confessed, "We are bound and shouldn't lie to one another."

Lusis glanced up at the gleaming grandness of the Circlet of Rhiwaras, on his silvery head. "Okay," she smoothed the robes she wore. "This won't be every day…. But it can be today."

"I am glad," he said. "The Princes are here, Lusis."

She brightened, unable to conceal her grin. "Legolas too?"

Now he lit-up as well. "I am told he is here…" he faltered, just trying to conceal the great excitement that was obvious in the throb of his voice, "I haven't seen him."

"Let's fix that." She nodded. Lusis knew that there was one person who would know where the Elfprince was. Redd, collector of stories. If Legolas had been abroad in various lands, then Redd had sought him out. That was a fact.

She headed down the stairs, aware that her glossy waves of hair bounced against her leather-bound back, coiling and uncoiling near the ends of the lengths like springs. Kasia looked up at her, wide-eyed. He stepped back and shook his head. The staff, likewise, got out of her way.

The Master of Boats scoffed, "Lusis Buckmaster, are… are you sure you don't have pointed ears hidden in that hair?" His small daughter, Avonne bounced up-and-down on her toes and pointed at Lusis in a most alarming way.

"Friend-Lusis is so pretty, ada-Thranduil!" She ran to the tall Elf.

"Yes, she is." He said simply. When the urge to look in his direction struck, Lusis restrained herself. Avonne charged past her, "Yes, merilneth."

"What is that?" Kasia's forehead wrinkled with concern, "What is that word, and, Avonne, do you have to climb on the King so, and while he is in such fineries?"

"Yes," Avonne told her father. "Ada-Thranduil is the prettiest of all the pretties." She petted the King's silken hair and gently smoothed his ear-tip back as if it remained at such a perfect point through her efforts alone. "Merilneth means young rose."

"Why does she know elvish?" Kasia pointed at his daughter, and, impertinently enough, quizzed the Elfking.

"Because she tries." Was the reply. It made Lusis smirk.

She was met in the downstairs by Merilin. He bowed to the King, and then to her, which was odd. Lusis didn't like this change and glanced at her King. She was surprised to find his silver disk eyes studying her, ovoid pupils somewhat dilated.

Merilin straightened and spared a second acknowledgment, an inclination of his head, for Lusis. He seemed, in his stoic fashion, very pleased. "My King, your Prince is touring in Lake Township."

The Elfking stilled, "Is he astride some horse, amid a section of elves, in these streets?"

"No, of course not," Merilin said quickly. His tone sounded taxed, "I was told there was more adventure to be had on foot. Thus he's scampering along the rooftops with a section… my section." He opened his bow-honed arms and his head bent. Behind Lusis' back, Ewon – father of this very elf – made a quickly subdued burble of amusement.

Kasia and several of the staff began to grin. Their powerful King was rumoured to have a bone-deep problem, and it was one with which even Men were all quite familiar. He had a carefree son. Politely, Kasia asked, "Section-head Merilin, what about the other one? The one with the strawberry blond hair?"

And so, Merilin, quite uncharacteristically, spoke directly to a human, "Lord Eithahawn?"

"That's him – the tall one. Needs to eat a few more meals. Staff wants to make him a pot roast."

The very elf swirled through the door, with his dark red velvet cloak billowing around him. He took down the hood and his hair spilled out from under a glimmering circlet of Mithril – holly complete with star ruby berries. He came in through the open doors and the blowing snow outside, and leafed through the paperwork he held. He did not look up. "I will take that under advisement… whatever in the world 'a pot-roast' might be." His golden brows rose up.

"You wouldn't like to be one," Lusis said, aside and saw that Merilin was entertained.

The Elfking thawed a moment. "Hello, my own."

Though he didn't look up, or break stride, the words had struck Eithahawn. His voice was quietly grateful as he replied, "Ada."

"Oh," Avonne cooed. "He calls you ada too. He's my brother. Brother is hannar."

Eithahawn looked up at the tiny and unfamiliar voice. He warmed when he saw the little blond girl that his father held. Human or not, elves did adore children. For weeks they'd been teaching her Silvan and Sindar, and Ewon could sometimes be found singing her songs in his off time. Eithahawn, tall, bright, and lovely, glanced from Avonne to Lusis and his eyes widened in pleasant surprise. "Ah. You look like one of us, friend-Lusis. Beautiful."

"Thanks. I think." She said sharply.

He glanced back at Avonne. "Hawn is also brother. As in my name, Eithahawn."

Her nose wrinkled, "But… but why would they name you one who pricks his brother?"

"Because when I was born, I already had four very puckish, adult brothers," said the aqua-eyed Kingdom's-seneschal, and his brows rose in tickled memory. "My name was meant for those four, as a warning. I suspect my emel – my mother – feared I wouldn't survive them." He made a sad elven smile, because those brothers had fallen in battle, along with his parents. At that time, Eithahawn had been under a decade in the world. And it had been a struggle in the early years, but he had survived them all.

The King must have known what he was thinking. He stepped forward, "I am glad to see you, ion." His head drifted down and right. "Your stay must be brief, I know, but I see you and I am content."

"Ai, it's the Winter Deer," his aqua eyes took in the crown the King wore. "I've never seen this beauty of our making outside of books. How did you come by it?"

Now Jan Kasia cleared his throat, delicately, "Right, that would be the small contingent seated at the west wall here." He directed their attention to the bearded, scruffy men who crouched on benches, hunched under tapestries whose browns, reds, and tans they matched, from whence they gaped at the elven royals. Pacing along before them was a straight-legged young woman with short, brown, waving curls of hair and matching eyes. Her gaze mostly on the floor. She wore leathers and furs and frowned as she turned and paced the way she'd come.

Kasia nodded at the King. "Elfking, this is Bess." Now he spoke slowly to the imposing tower of light, "Most in Lake Township know her as Bess Bowman Once-of-Dale."

Now the Elfking set Avonne onto the floor. He took slight steps in the tall girl's direction, and then inclined his Mithril-antlered head to her. "Ariel Bess, why did you bring me this crown of yours?"

She nipped the corner of her lip and looked up at him. Her voice was unsure, "H-hello, mighty Elvenking," she inhaled as if to inflate her collapsing figure, and said, "There's scarcely 2000 of the old city's citizens in between Esragoth and Dale. I'm hardly a princess."

He glanced up at her, "You know and remember elvish?"

"Why not?" she crossed her arms and looked up at him. "You know and remember your Westron. Why shouldn't I do the same of my Sindarin?" Her chin rose.

"Ai," breathed Eithahawn. "The blood of the Bowman is strong."

"You should retain this," the King said and one increasingly graceful hand unfurled toward the crown that glinted over his fair hair.

The girl, who was just older than a teenager, looked grim as she said, "I would rather preserve your goodwill. It's more important than a relic, or so my father's-fathers always said. You must understand… my brothers are in the North, where they fight as Rangers. Their troops of men are their kingdom. They care only for ridding this world of taint."

"Which leaves you, here." Without hesitation, the Elfking asked, "What do you need, ariel?"

"There are Men in the mountain, Elvenking. My people ever watch that place. We are honed against the Dragon Sickness, and can hardly suffer it anymore. We are natural friends of Man, and spies on the mountain. They can hide much…" she jabbed a thumb at herself, "but not from me."

Eithahawn set down his stacks of paperwork on the long table that ran along the top of the room. "The Lonely Mountain is under treaty, and while no elves are allowed in, there is no such prohibition on Men and Dwarves."

"Not like this." The earnest-eyed young woman shook her head.

The Elvenking raised a hand, fractionally, to call for silence, "What have you seen?"

"Flattened grass along the Northern dells at the foot of the mountain. And wild game. It is hard to detect this, because his Majesty has claimed this land and, so, filled even the winter with mildness and plenty, but… something is taking a large quantity of wild game. My Men work with Kells Srus, the furrier, and we all expected a winter take such as we'd never witnessed. But that's not come to pass, someone else is taking the animals. Winter fish are the same."

"Your people are hungry, while mine harvest honey in the snow," the King tipped his head. "We shall see you through."

There was obvious relief on the faces of the two men behind her.

But the small, sharp girl pressed on, "It's more than our hunger, brings me here, Elvenking. There are tracks to the North, and pains taken to conceal them. Just hours ago, I walked through the woods and saw split and broken trees so eerie. I've climbed down the slopes to ask you, what could split them as I've seen, at the top? Elvenking, these trees are taller than the highest steeples here."

The Elfking had already shut his eyes. "I see."

Bess Bowman's dark brows drew down, "You and your… your fine miss," she snuck a shy look at Lusis, "must leave this place."

Lusis laid a hand on her sword hilt.

No one else spoke.

"Eithahawn."

"Adar?"

"You will brief me on affairs," the Elfking pivoted, "and you will leave for the Kingdom. Merilin, find Legolas and tell him the same. In fact, when he is home, perhaps… confine him to his suites."

The dark-haired section-head glanced up at the King, daunted, but it was Eithahawn who said, "That's a weighty 'perhaps'. Unless you plan to tie my slippery brother to a tree. But I wouldn't bank on any elf's ability to do so, friend Merilin. I… I don't suppose the King will tell us what is causing such a rush?"

"Peace, my child."

"Of course." Eithahawn came to a stop beside Lusis. He glanced down at her as if for guidance, but her steady eyes, darker than the deeps of Erebor, didn't stray from her King. The King was moving his heirs out of the way. There would be no more bats at the river, or werewolves at the edge of the woods. Trouble had arrived at the doorstep of the Kingdom. It sat waiting to be opened.

Bess Bowman wrung her hands and murmured. She stared at Eithahawn as if unable to look away, "You… you should listen to him, lovely one. Very soon, this will not be a place for anyone who is not good with a sword." Her eyes skipped to where Avonne watched these events. "And this will be no place for a child, if they come."

Jan Kasia looked down at his only child, and fell silent. "Avonne, my King," his words were heartfelt.

The Elfking didn't delay. "Collect her governess and nanny. Pack her things. She must be ready within the hour," said the King as he pivoted. His silver eyes passed over them all. "Master of Boats, call the Council together. The enemy is sharp. A crisis is upon us." He glanced down at Avonne's upturned face, reached a graceful hand, and smoothed her hair. She was quickly gathered up by staff who carried her away to help select things to pack.

Briefly, the Elfking cupped a hand around Eithahawn's pale cheek. He bent to press his forehead against the side of his foundling son's head. "There will be fighting – bloodshed. I cannot afford the distraction of fearing for you. You will travel today."

Eithahawn's brows drew down as his father passed him.

That didn't bode well. Lusis glanced across at Bess who quietly nodded. They fell in step beside one another and followed the long strides of the King. Steed hurried in beside her. "Lusis, speaking of someone who can't use a sword, I need to talk to you about Osp."

"You think I should send him back to the Kingdom?" Lusis asked.

Steed opened his hands.

"Back to Loss and Glir, then?" Her lip curled a little at the thought. "No. He should see this. He should see what these elves he and his disdain must risk, and must do, to triumph over evil."

Now Steed frowned. "He could be killed."

"Pardoning the Dunedain, but so could we all." Bess looked across at the Dunedain, curiously. She had no idea who Osp was. But was naturally intrigued. She'd never heard of an elf who disdained other elves before.

"Well… I thought to quietly remove him from here," Steed told her. "He told me that Dorondir Hastion involved him in some calculations. He's very sharp with numbers, Osp. There are plans in which he is involved. If they are battle plans, he will become responsible for loss of life."

"Warriors save lives," Bess told him. "If… if I may say."

Lusis agreed, but she also knew the circumstances were very different for this particular elf. "My friend had a good point here, Princess of Dale."

Bess shook her waves and curls, "Fine-miss, I'm no-"

"This elf we speak of, Osp, he is unlike other elves. He has come here from the West. He cannot battle. He knows nothing of death and killing."

"Oh," her brown eyes widened. "Does such an elf exist?" Involuntarily, she glanced across at where Lord Eithahawn wordlessly followed his father.

Lusis tried not to smile at this.

"Dorondir Hastion's actions are no less a conundrum than those of the Elfking. But if he's used Osp for such a thing, I'll also hold him responsible for the outcome, and for Osp. Mark my words." She glanced up at her contracted match, again, and his white blond hair drifted as he made for the doors. "In the meantime, show me. What has Dorondir done?"

They stopped and let events pass them.

"It is… discourteous for a human, even a part-elf, but I went into the Quiet Room in the early hours today. There is a map the elves keep against the wall that faces the outside – the wall with the open door. None would have seen it. One would have to go in, and it is a space for elves, so… Men don't."

"An open door. Among the elves. Of course it keeps a secret," Lusis realized the failing of her human habituation. She also glanced after Bess who had followed the King out into the yard. Another dark-eyed, dark-haired girl, though paler than Lusis would ever be. She wondered if the King had noticed a difference. Bess' two large, scruffy men followed her. And Nimpeth followed them. Which meant Amathon was nowhere to be seen. And that made Lusis secure in her King's safety. Because elves were much more where they weren't seen than where they were, as absently present as their emotions.

"Of course there's a map on the very wall that anyone," she glanced aside at him, "just staring in the doorway as we've all been doing, would never see." Clever elves.

"I think it's for the King's work, Lusis. I really do. Come and see it."

She turned on the off chance that… indeed, Telfeth was behind her. Lusis stopped. "Tell me, Telfeth, are you watching me for the King?"

"Yes, Lady," said Telfeth. Her head started to tip, and she caught herself quickly, because she was unsure what a being like Lusis might construe. "I… I am charged with your safekeeping. I am your cirbann-edhel, your haven-elf – the keeper of your confidence. Or…" she groped for a comparison, "I am meant to be, to you, as maer-Ewon is to our Greatest King. As is your right. For the Istari has graciously sworn contract to the King of Mirkwood, and he did, under the morning star, make solemn oath to uphold her. You are Lady of the Great Greenwood. What else would we Silvan do but protect you?"

The shock cracked Steed's cultivated, part-elven sangfroid. "What the Fires is this, Chief?"

The contract hadn't even been publically announced yet. "Right." Lusis made a nod. She continued through worsening weather while Telfeth eased in and pulled Lusis' hood up over her hair in a motion so quick and smooth that it was nearly invisible. Lusis had seen the Silvan do the same for the King. She sighed through gritted teeth, turned, and pulled Telfeth's hood up for her too. Elves. "The Lady… situation. I can't fully explain it right now, Steed-"

"You sound like him," said her Ranger archer.

"I'm sorry about that, too," she finally understood why the Elfking no longer bothered to unburden himself of these long thoughts of his. She looked into Steed's blue eyes, "The gods know I find secrets irritating."

"Are you… together with him?"

"No."

Telfeth made a soft peep, which had to be out of utter horror.

Lusis quickly added, "Also… yes."

Steed bared his teeth a moment, frustrated. "Fires, that King has too many angles. Tell me, are you being forced to this?"

She looked up at her tall Ranger, "Yes. But… no. Steed it's complex. It takes too long to explain."

His lips compressed, "Lusis! We were willing to stand against Kirstman Buckmaster, famed sword of the Keep, as you recall. He wanted to consign you like house property too. For pity's sake, are you doing this freely?"

"No," she sighed, but then amended with a fearful. "Yes." She set a hand over her beating heart.

Steed looked grave as he turned away to mutter, "Gods. I asked myself, what were the chances that Istari could be as convoluted as elves?"

"Later, Steed, I swear." Lusis' will returned to its steely state of rest, "Take me to Osp."

And in response to her command Steed snapped to Ranger protocol. "Yes, Chief." After all, many times his neck had depended on Lusis Buckmaster's commands.

They walked through the bustling main building, through the stares of many of the workers there. They had grown used to seeing Lusis Buckmaster, the Ranger Chief, but hardly recognized her in the long elven coat she wore, and with her skin and hair so polished. She spared no attention for newfound admiration and went up the stairs two at a time.

In the upper hall, armed Silvan elves passed in and out of the Quiet Room. In contrast to the break-rooms of the workers in the downstairs, this lone haunt of elves in Kasia's largest building was hauntingly quiet. They saw Lusis coming, and several of them stepped out of her path and bowed to her.

"Lady, are you sure you wish to come in here?" an elf stepped aside to reveal tall, ginger-haired Arasell, herself. The section head had a bow out in one hand, strung with red bow string.

Lusis glanced up at the part-Sinda woman and said, "I know."

Arasell simply bowed her body and backed out of the Istari's way.

Elves moved aside for her. Lusis stepped into the room that, hitherto this morning she'd considered a sacrosanct haven of elves. Behind her, Telfeth inhaled deeply and followed. The inside was changed. It had been a spacious storage room, prior, lined with windows and piled with material now moved to a reinforced and specially prepared space in the attic. The room was wide and white. In the corners there were wood tables that had been cut to fit, and carefully stained. Bowls of berries, nuts, and dried fruits stood under a dome of elven glass, a tall silver vessel of water and cups beside it. On the opposite table she saw a profusion of spring-bright wildflowers growing from pots, a pure white antler, green pine cones, driftwood gone pale in the sun, a trio of rounded and glossy stones, old glass phials, a hammer and pestle, fur painter's brushes, and several large hunks of old and weathered glass that had been frosted by the motion of the river, and that the elves had now partially carved into lovey objects. All of this sat on a fragrant circle woven of sweet grass.

Lusis crossed to it first, the elves had an air of expectancy, but she didn't understand any of it. She couldn't say why these things were here. Was it to misguide the humans who could see this little trove from the upstairs corridor? Perhaps aesthetics? Elves found symmetry relaxing and were very fond of beautiful things.

"To help the mind relax," said a subdued voice from close behind her.

She blinked at the collection and suddenly realized they were bits and pieces of home – things she'd seen in the Halls before. "Sleep aids."

"For overtaxed minds."

Lusis turned to look up at Dorondir. His bright eyes fluttered. "Lady…," he inclined his head.

It pleased Lusis, she couldn't lie, that the elf spy who left her so curious was now so obviously moved. Likewise, she tried not to hold his green gaze in silence for long. But she didn't have to pretend at the vexation she felt with him, "Your mind is so overburdened lately, it must be hard to look up anymore." Her tone was critical. "What have you been doing? And why involve Osp?" Her eyes found him standing in the middle of the room, as if unable to hear her.

She headed for the Western elf, saying, "He's an innocent here. He's like a child."

"A useful child, my Lady, and good at probability, if I may say," Dorondir dropped in beside her stalk across the room. "Which is unrelated to either innocence or experience."

"What do you need probability for?" She asked him harshly, unsure, really what the ability to predict things had to do with math to begin with. In her experience, prediction was down to those rare individuals who were sensitive enough to see tells in the natural world.

Dorondir nodded quietly. His voice was low, "You are angry."

"Yes, I'm angry," Lusis snapped. "I take care of him."

"Lady, don't you think it's more appropriate to say that Inilfain – that Steed – takes care of him? Yet you do not see any temper from your Ranger. He knows I do no harm." Dorondir countered.

"Steed is there because I put him there." She growled at the elf. "I have charge of Osp. The Elvenking would have left him to wander back to the Halls, provided all the butterflies in his head led him in that direction. He's more distracted by this place than a child."

Osp blinked, slowly, and the distant forges sparked in his voice, "That's because there are so many wonders… in it."

She stepped beside him. "Bee, are you all right?"

He ignored her words.

A longbow interjected itself between Dorondir and Lusis and nudged Osp's ribs, and not gently. Telfeth's brows had drawn down on her forehead. Osp pulled away to look from her bow and up at her, but all the small elf-archer had to say was a leaden, "When the Lady asks a question, Western-gwass, so help me, you answer."

Lusis blinked, "What did you call him?"

And Telfeth's lip actually curled, "A stain." She smoothed her expression. To forbidding.

Osp knitted his long fingers and stepped away from the smaller elf. "What was the question, Lady of the Great Greenwood?"

"Don't call me that. We said we were friends," She instructed. It was surprising when he set a hand on his heart and inclined his head to her.

Now his voice was yielding as cotton fluff. "In all this, I thought you might have forgotten."

"I don't forget my friends," she glanced from him and over to Dorondir. "That goes for you too."

The elf spy's gaze found her shoulder, just a fraction off her expression, and his voice was softer than she'd ever noted of him prior, "Of course."

Lusis stepped between them, Telfeth unapologetically straight behind her, and went to look at the wall. She sucked in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. The beautiful drawing actually went straight onto the ceiling. It covered the back wall too, where a great harp dominated, and where elves now stood and watched, in apprehension.

It moderated her temper to see them all looking so tense. But it also worried her.

The drawing was like nothing she'd ever seen. It looked to be the work of many elves. She stepped back to take more of it in and murmured, "Steed, has Icar seen this?"

Her Ranger made a very human headshake in her peripheral vision. "I hadn't thought that way."

The elves would fail on answering what the headshake meant, she felt sure. Lusis quickly decided that Icar would love this. He would likely stare at it for hours.

The city of Lake Township rolled out almost as if a charcoal rubbing had been made from far up in the sky, and transferred to the sanded wood here. This had been done from the rooftops, for certain. The elves raced across the tightly knit houses day and night, and the level of detail that they saw was… overwhelming. Lusis stood and looked at this, dazed. It had been painted, this map from above, in warm and quiet washes of colour that, she would bet, were perfectly accurate.

"But what does this have to do with math? I…" she glanced at Dorondir, "I don't follow."

The spy exhaled. Elves filed out and pulled the draperies shut. One of them turned up an oil lantern and delivered it to the hands of the spy. Osp stepped in beside Lusis and his expression, for a moment, was a sunny as a child's. "What cleverness your Thranduil displays, friend-Lusis. And such beautiful execution by this half-Noldor spy of yours."

Lusis took from this, "You drew that, Dorondir?" She had to look up at the ceiling to see all of it. How had he done that work unnoticed? Although… who was in these buildings at night, but Argus' Rangers and the section elves of the Elvenking?

Osp smiled, "He did draw this. And these others, here, painted it in. But, as sublime as it is, beauty is not the most wonderful thing about it. That is a secret that the spy and Elfking," he took and raised the lamp, "brought to light."

The light of the lamp on the darkened room bounced off small chips of bright glass that had been embedded in the painting. There were shining trails no wider than a strand of web that crossed the entirety of Lake Township, they came in several colours – white, red, and blue. Lusis glanced at the river glass on the table and saw all the same colours there. The sources were those beautifully carved bits of glass. She quickly glanced over the white marble hammer and pestle on the table and understood how the glass had become shining trails concealed in the painting.

"What do the colours mean?" She looked from Osp to Dorondir.

"The white… is for the King of Mirkwood." Dorondir explained unhurriedly, as if reluctant. "The red is for Lord Elrond. It is the blue… that is the one you should attend to. It is where the math comes in." He looked to Osp, and the tall elf rocked up on his toes in excitement before settling beside Lusis again.

"Well," Osp inhaled and opened a long hand at the wall. "You see, there are reports of lights over the city at night. These were things that the Master, Drivenn, paid little attention, it seems. Your Thranduil, your King, however, was not the same in his thinking. His mind is… enjoyably systematic in that it sees or hears of phenomenon and wants to study and understand. And even to explain and predict. He is a flawless Sinda in that sense. This is how the Sindar came to construct great elf ships that sail all the waters of the world, so far from shore they can navigate only by star and sunstone. Yet they never lose their way, the fair ones of the sea."

Steed huffed a breath, which caused everyone to look at him. And he flushed. "I forget he's a sea-elf. It's hard to imagine him there."

Lusis' quirking smile was genuine. She hadn't ever thought of the great elf in that sense either. She turned back to the map and noted. "So the blue lines are… are they reports of lights?"

Dorondir told her, "Yes. The blue dots are."

"They seem random."

"They are not," Osp said with certainty and nodded. "I have been over the math dozens of times. They are no more random than the colour of the Elfking's eyes, being that his bloodline did not diverge from his kind until the birth of his half-Silvan son. And in the colours reported of that particular leaf of the line of Thranduilion, Legolas, you see the math of probability, friend-Lusis. It is not random that he is blond, or that he is blue, rather than silver-eyed."

She looked at the tall, lovely elf with his bee clasp and said, "Of course it is."

"But of course not." Dorondir told her. "White horses to white horses give white horses."

But Lusis frowned, "People don't work that way."

"Oh, but secretly, all things do," said Osp. "There is math for everything in the natural world, friend-Lusis." He pointed the slide-rule he so loved at the wall. "And there was math buried in the lights. Your King's mind is trained by long practice, little friend. He could sense that there was a pattern here. He did predict, twice, the proper areas of the city where the next might appear. You see that his travels twice parallel the lines made in blue."

"We were with him on one of those nights," Dorondir explained. "When the Elflord collapsed."

A zephyr of worry passed through the elves in the room and ruffled their smooth expressions at the sound of that. They hurried to either look away or steady themselves to hear on.

"He is clever." Osp was forced to admit, "Perhaps… brilliant. And he came very close. Though… if they'd come upon their quarry one fears what might have befallen the fading Lord of Rivendell."

Lusis felt herself sigh deeply, "Elrond is Lord, but you cannot find it in you to admit that Thranduil Oropherion is King?" He made things difficult for himself, Lusis felt sure of that now.

"The Valar themselves allowed him to choose his race." Huffed Osp. "He is the blood of Elwe, the Sindar High-King to which your match was once a subject, and his adar, Oropher, was a general. If either of the two of them could ever truly deserve the title of King it would be-"

Telfeth's bow made a whooshing sound in air. Osp fell back, hurriedly, and it narrowly avoided thwacking him.

Dorondir's stance shifted at once, and, Lusis swore, his green eyes flashed like the edge of a knife as he said, "You dispute my Lord and disparage my King. Why are you here?" His hand glided to a blade on his belt.

And Lusis set her hand over his.

He turned to look down at her, clearly tired of Osp's opinions.

Lusis stepped forward as Dorondir backed away. "I think I told you, he's a child. He's innocent and bright, and ignorant and rude, like a child."

Osp half-turned. "Friend-Lusis?"

"And, Osp, stop provoking these good souls with your conceit," she snapped at the Western elf, "or you can fend them off with that slide-rule of yours. Do you hear me?"

At that notion, Osp folded inward and pulled his shimmering cloak around himself again. "Fact. This map is the culmination of your King's night-walks with the Lord of Rivendell. Fact. Your King was able to intuit a pattern he did not have the equations to verify. Now he has them. Shouldn't that victory matter more than these petty squabbles?"

Steed took the lamp from Osp and pulled the tall elf to a more defensible position behind Lusis. "Maybe you should stop talking, Bee. Or at least stop stinging others."

"Lest you be swatted," Lusis sighed as she released Dorondir. The spy of Rivendell, and citizen of Mirkwood, had command of his quicksilver temper again. His green gaze was locked on hers a moment longer than was strictly necessary. Then he stepped aside and glanced at Osp.

"Be useful," said Dorondir. "Show her."

The light through the door was one with a perfect explanation. The Elfking in his pale blue snow-fall clothes and his Mithril antler crown. He was so pale and bright that the lamp seemed dull once he'd entered.

His silver gaze went to Lusis. "I am not surprised to find you here at last."

She took a step toward him. "Then why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you?" he said slowly, and his bright head tilted. "What would I have said to you, Lusis-dess, of half-formed suspicions, and incoherent conjectures, as if handing you a key would make clear that there is a mountain to be opened?"

He stepped up to her and then glanced at Steed.

Steed brought the lamp without having to be told to do so. The Elfking's graceful hand took it up and he raised it, which was an irony to Lusis. The King shone so bright that his light swallowed that of the simple oil lantern. But as he raised it, the fragments of glass blinked again.

"We were able to predict some of the pattern you see here."

"You were, my King," Ewon corrected the King quietly, his flinty, storm-coloured eyes on Osp.

"I did try to convince Osp to finish constructing the lines, that he might connect all the points on this map," the King looked down at Lusis beside him and shadows played on his profile from two light sources. It coloured him blue and gold together, like some great master's painting. "He refused."

Without as much as a tap at the doorframe, Jan Kasia walked into the room that he'd granted the Mirkwood elves. He was nervous. At first he looked to the King: tall, still, and lit up by the lantern that gleamed against the curves of his Mithril crown. Then Kasia glanced around the elves gathered in the dimness, for he had never been in a place with so many of them at once. They were motionless capitals, as silent as an empty house, and their long eyes glittered, glassy, in the lamp light. The elves might have been embossed in silver, except Lusis Buckmaster moved. She turned to take him in, and in that moment, managed to look no more human to him than a golden fawn at the edge of the immense woodlands, West.

The lamp lowered in the King's hand, and he looked on. "Come, Master of Boats. Join us."

Kasia hesitated. He glanced through the room and found that the most human of people therein, Lusis Buckmaster, and Steed Roanhead, both seemed less connected to the world of Men than they currently did to the fabled West.

The King spoke again, "We are not enemies to you, Jan Kasia. This is your home. Come in."

Slowly, Kasia joined them. His gaze poured over the corner table, with the flowers, and stones, and the bone antler, and shot up at the crown of the King, with silvery-white prongs of his own that made the elf so utterly inhuman in aspect – his horned shadow unmoving on the ceiling. The tall elf with the bee clasp, his gaze followed the Master of Boats, unblinkingly. The green-eyed elf whom Kasia's security swore was a spy, and who both put Men at great ease and fit into shadows, his green stare was like that of a forest lion.

Something very serious… was happening here.

Kasia finally looked up where the Elfking did. He saw the expert painting of the Township, and gasped, dumbstruck by the exquisiteness of it, like a tribute to this city of Men, but drawn up by elves and painted with stars. "My… my King and good elves… this work of yours is such an honour. It is stunning. I gave you this room solely as a comfort, but you've made it into a tribute."

Lusis turned to look up at the Elfking's colourless eyes. His lids lowered. His eyelashes cast shadows upward onto his pale flesh.

Kasia opened his arms to the elves, "Why wouldn't you finish this? It is so fine and flawless."

The King raised the lamp again, "Kasia, do you know the rumours of lights over the city at night? Have you heard anything of that?"

"That's just the talk of children." Kasia chuckled, and then sobered at the way the elves reacted.

"No," the King said softly. "It is not, Master of Boats. This that you see… is a map of the reported lights with all the points joined. It was corrected mathematically, to draw lines across Lake Township. They appear in a predictable pattern, drawing a shape across the lands of the Men of my holdings."

"What is it?" Lusis heard herself ask.

"A square… tipped on an edge in this painting," Kasia could easily see that the blue lines intersected, now that his attention had been drawn to the lines among the stars. "Do the elves have such a constellation?"

"Yes, in fact," the Elfking said. "The lozenge, the same shape upon which edhel men of noble birth place their devices – the same heraldry that represents them."

"A round device for an edhel woman," said Osp softly, "and square for families, houses, and countries. I… I am surprised it is the same in this light-forsaken place."

The King's teeth flashed in irritation, "You woke on these shores, child. Not in Valinor."

"You dare call me a child?" Osp gasped. "I woke. You were born."

"Ah, and having woken, what have you withstood?" the Elfking said in scathing reply. He advanced on the taller elf… and Osp backed away, childlike in his reaction, as accused. "You have tasted little of the poison of war, or the bitter rapture of killing and, by it, surviving. Has this child yet breathed in the wretchedness of slaughter and edhel deaths? But you may see all today."

Kasia shook his head as if to clear it. "Excuse me, what?"

The King passed the lamp aside to Dorondir, who turned its flame down to nothing. Grave-cheeked elves opened the draperies to morning light. The spy set the lantern on the ground as the Elfking made for the door in his splendid robes. "Ai. Did bright Osp of Valinor glimpse the Rider and the Hunter? I think not."

He pushed his white-golden hair roughly over his shoulder.

Lusis hooked her hand into Osp's as he nervously gathered his cloak around him. "You're all right with me, Bee." She gathered his cloak in one fist and pulled him closer to reassure him. The tall elf was immeasurably old, but he was adrift in this strange land. His eyes were startled.

Lusis pressed, "Why wouldn't you finish the lozenge? What is it about what you've found?"

"You would not want to draw this device upon a city-map, friend-Lusis." Osp explained shakily. "Once… once it flew over our own lands to the West. Red and gold and black and white." He shuddered.

The King half turned to look, but offered nothing. He merely waited.

Osp continued, "It… I believe it remained unknown in Middle Earth… still, there is no elf yet in Valinor who does not recognize the accursed device that is tracing itself across your sky."

Kasia frowned. "So these lights mean something?"

Osp's upper body tipped back. His voice also sounded hollow. "It is a white tower on a black field. It is flanked, on either side, by six golden stars. And one is set atop. All is surrounded in a ring of fire. This lozenge was meant as a beacon to guide souls safe to shore. But that was a lie. It guided souls astray into torment and endless darkness. Where I come from, it has been taken down and burnt – an emblem of arrogance, travesty and brutal domination. Much of the lozenge is already upon this map. But I will not finish it. The device is his, and so those who make lights appear at night must also be his. Who else would know this obscenity? I will not close this device, not in this room because I would not dare to create such a seal for the enemy. Thranduil is not my King, but I would not give a fiend to the Lord of the Rings. I could never betray an elf."

Dorondir exhaled slowly and turned toward the King. "I am sorry that we have uncovered this."

There was a moment, as the Elvenking raised his head, where his silver eyes where shut.

The Elvenking's expression was serene, but he appeared like marble scoured by water and Ages – marvelously worn. Swallowed by time. His voice was slow and deep. "I am too late. My eyes did not see." His hands pressed to his bright chest and there was a sudden stillness in the room. But it was followed by a flurry of motion.

Elves came together. They reached in, and, in clear violation of elven social regulation, they touched the person of the King. Their hands rested on his shoulders and arms, his chest and back, they pressed against his white blond hair. Ewon, himself, laid a hand over the King's curled fingers. So many moved to him that Lusis was pushed back into Osp. The Western elf closed his forearms around her quite naturally, as if doing so was a normal thing in the Undying Lands, or as if he'd forgotten where he was. He stared at the press of the elves and his lips parted in a kind of wonder.

Lusis marveled that none could see the surge of fire, since the light forced her to squint through watering eyes. The colours of all those secret fires melted to one and became blindly white. She eased away because she could see that Osp's moonlight had begun to flood out around him and pass into the King, itself. Her own starpoint flared to painful brightness.

As quickly as this unity had come upon them, the elves departed.

The King was free of them and made his industrious way toward the door.

Kasia had retreated there. In fact, he stood beyond in a hallway now filled with Men.

"What's wrong?" Lusis looked them over and asked Kasia.

But it was Argus Samas who pushed through. "The building… it shook."

Lusis' eyes widened in dismay. "As in a cataclysm?" What kind of weapon did the Enemy have? And wasn't it terrifying that neither she, nor the King, had felt it?

"No," Argus shook his head. "It quaked as if in time to a heartbeat. It has stopped, but the workers are much disturbed, and many extolled me to check on the King and the Master."

Even as he said so, elves fluttered by, fleet and unobtrusive. All stood aside for the passage of the King. His pale fingers swept under Lusis' hand and coaxed her in beside him. He kept her with him as they walked. "Dorondir… the Lord and Glorfindel."

"Are readied by those who serve," the spy said softly. "Lord Eithahawn?"

"Awaits a barge for his departure," the King glanced aside at the grim face of the Master of Boats. "Avonne is with him."

Kasia jolted back to motion. "Yes. Thank you, Elfking. Bess was minding her. Your son is nowhere as adept with children."

"He was hard on himself as a child." The Elfking sounded worried. "I shall be at peace when he is safely away from here with that girl child."

The Master of Boats raised a hand as if to hold back the King, which was a hopeless goal now, "Is it imminent, this debacle? Surely… surely not this urgent, and we have time to plan?"

The Elfking's pale face averted. "What planning could be done… has been done. We are out of time, Jan Kasia."

In her chest came a sudden sinking feeling, and Lusis realized, at last, the price for healing the King when he had fought so hard to conceal his weakness, had come due on the heads of Lake Township. The aggressor who had dogged their steps since she'd stood in the snow of Buckmaster Spur was ready, now, to strike at the heart of Elvendom in Middle Earth.

"They aren't after me," she looked up at Dorondir, "they're after the elves."

Dorondir's smooth knuckles bumped against the fist of her free hand like a tiny rap on a door. She opened her fingers, and, in the chaos, he briefly curled his hand in hers. He passed her nothing. She inhaled, closed her fingers tight against his, and released him. Lusis brought her fist up to her sternum.

"You will endure, Lady Lusis," whispered the spy. "I swear it."

She glanced at him, "See to Eithahawn. He has few defenses. I will see to myself and my King." But her head was spinning that he would dare such a thing with the King beside her. Which was the first sign, she felt, that she had created a problem for him, and for herself.

The elves seemed suddenly everywhere. They pulled out fighting knives, swords, bows, arrows, all manner of violence. They were a quiet storm of checking the soundness of weaponry, and girding for war. The Elfking passed through archways made for Men, speaking deep, rustling Sindarin to the thronging all around him – a watercourse of beautiful sound. Lusis released the King to jog, in order to keep up. To no lesser extent, Kasia and Steed hurried to do the same.

The Elfking stopped, abruptly, in the landing on the lower floor, "Where is the Council, Master of Boats?" Elves pooled around.

"Collected in the shipping room. They are waiting for you. For word from you. We all are."

His long coats fanned around him as he passed onto the main floor from the back of the building. His section heads fell in to flank him, and with them were several Elites Lusis didn't know. Along with them went a tall woman with dark blonde curls that bounced on bright silver armour. This tall beauty fell in beside the King and they began to talk in earnest.

Lusis inhaled a few times because the new elf was so dazzling, and such an excellent complement to the King that she was his equal height, and had nearly the same flashing blue eyes as his son. So Lusis snagged the one elf she knew, for a fact, would have all the details. She pulled him close over her shoulder and asked his curving ear. "Who is that woman in armour?"

"That is Helin," said Ewon. "Helin Ivreniell, the Crystal Flower, she is called. She leads the King's Own Raiment, yes, but she has been at the fore of a Luster, and even a Storm of elven troops before. That would mean he summoned the Raiment here. Next to nothing else moves them – they are zealots of the King, and… I suppose you should be aware that Helin is the sister of the former Queen."

Lusis let out the breath she'd been holding. "Ai. No wonder she's so beautiful."

The elves swirled into the tall room.

Unable to prevent herself, Lusis glanced up at four floors of balconies, now packed with Men. Down the hall on her right, the Ranger, Elow, grimly sealed the Counting Room and all its staff behind a steel door. It was clear that the Men of Lake Township knew that something was afoot. The heartbeat within the building had been but the beginning.

The King looked up into the lamplight of early morning. Lusis remembered that, once, Men had rained flowers down on him from on high in this place. Now they watched him, and fretted.

The Council stood waiting. They had been woken early. Nema Aragennya paced and set her hands on her hips to stretch her long back.

Lusis' troop was nearby, as was Eithahawn, in his dark red, with Dorondir close by him. They both looked resolute.

She didn't miss that Icar stared at her, openly. Her troop's faces, her brothers, all responded to her as if she'd just grown fairy wings and tumbled out of a barrel of sugar. But she didn't have the wherewithal to acknowledge them when she was preoccupied with the King.

She glanced to her right to Steed. "Don't leave Osp alone."

"You have my word." He murmured. Osp was close beside him, and entrusted himself to Steed out of habit.

Cardoc Wence, the Master of Lumber, had been ever loyal to the laws of a King he had, prior to the Claiming of the Land, never met. Now he stood at the fore to receive the Elfking. His eyes travelled over the Mithril crown with its graceful antlers, and then looked to Murric Vant. The fishing magnate, hereabouts, was too terrified of the King to ever speak to him. To Vant, the Elfking felt too vast, too… inhuman. The antlers would not help matters. Kuril Farna, who headed the Guild of Trade, actually gasped on sight of the otherworldly figure the King cut. This arched crown sucked up attention quite the same way the magnificence of the King's layered clothes kept Killan Wye, the Master of Textiles, wholly entranced.

"Is there some occasion?" Cardoc asked breathlessly and opened his arms before him, as if he could hug the fabric, "Elfking… such grandeur."

The King shifted a little. His body glided a fraction to one side and his silver gaze fell on Lusis.

"What? Her?" Cardoc chuckled as if this was comical.

Lusis, in her fine elf clothes, with her varnished skin, her polished waves of hair, and her buffed fingernails, stepped forward. Wye's expression began to shift, and when she pulled her elven-steel, which made the most melodious of rings, he paled and asked, "I am… deeply sorry for any insult to you, Lusis Buckmaster."

"That is a wise choice," Kasia told Wye sharply. "She's the Lady of the Great Greenwood now."

In the flickering lamplight, Lusis' sword flashed.

"What does that mean?" Wence asked in the growing quietude. He seemed utterly stupefied by this development, "Has there been… betrothing? Is this happy event unfolding here, in our humble corner of the Kingdom, for the great Elvenking?" Wence was torn. He didn't know whether he should offer felicitations, or inform the Elvenking of the shape of Lusis' ears. And then his jolly nature took hold of him, "My King… can it be? Are we called together in such haste for happy news? Are nuptials in order?"

Nema pushed her way through. "What? Wed? To her? Are you in your right mind? Fie! She's been given a grass gown and a straw bed to lie in, by the Fires. Have sense! Not to her!" Nema stood panting as she stared around her. She looked at the Elvenking. "No."

It was Osp who made a sudden sputtering hiss, "Painted-woman, do you think she is some ball of yarn to roll playfully on the lawn?" His brows drew down and his next words spilled out in one of the most beautiful elven languages Lusis thought she'd ever heard. It would have been melodic, apart from the hiss underneath it, as if hot steel had touched water.

The King looked at him, sharply. His low, harmonious Sindarin pricked the air with frost.

Osp shrank back from it.

Lusis found her voice and stepped between the humans and elves, "No, Master of Lumber, this gathering is not about good news. We are at a pivotal point. Adversity rides down on us, and it has been careful to disguise itself. For survival, you will hear your King." Her sword lopped air as she put it away again. Noise in the Council, indeed, in the room and on the balconies, scudded to a stop… but for frantically pacing Nema. The woman was outraged.

"What has befallen us, Elfking?" Cardoc Wence asked. In the hush, his breathless voice floated to the upper balconies where humans huddled to listen. They remembered the Great Snakes of spring prior, and that memory was a dark cloud over the room that made the Men huddle in fear.

"This foe… is greater than the last," said the tall Sinda. His antlered head, passionlessly bright even with fires and disaster poised above him, tipped like a water vessel as he prepared himself to deliver this city of Men. "Werewolves roving the lands along the River Running, a slow emptying of the criminal settlements further afield, and lights across the city at night. There comes," his throaty voice drew the word out as if it were elvish, "adversity… and where is Gurn Drivenn, Master of Forces?"

Cardoc Wence turned to look through the Council… and didn't find the man. He looked back at the King, wide-eyed. "Elvenking… what does it mean?"

Argus Samas glowered. "My Lord, I will send men."

But this was not a question. Lusis exhaled slowly, "Or do you want me and mine to find him?"

"I have no doubt he'll find us soon enough, Lusis-dess, with his Forces." The King said a few words aside to Helin, and she inclined herself to him and walked out of the Main Building.

"Without the Forces, my King, we have only Rangers to fall back on," Cardoc seemed close to hyperventilation. "What calamity can we expect?"

The King exhaled, "An army, I would think, of werewolves, goblins, orcs, and Men. I suspect they are here for the territories of the Great Greenwood, of which you are one. And as we won't leave and make domination of these lands a matter of simplicity for them… I expect they mean to rout us."

Osp's head tipped to one side, "Will you then retreat to the West?"

The King's chin rose, but he gave no answer.

"They want to scare you… scare you off." Kasia sounded airless. "My King… don't-"

In fact, Cardoc Wence staggered, and the King stepped up, extended a silvery hand, and steadied the man. In doing so, the King's colourless hair slipped over his shoulder and spun down to bounce against the man's bent back. Wence's badly dazed fire fluttered once more, but then began to burn solidly. He straightened before his King.

"Peace," said Thranduil Oropherion, as if he had forgotten the crown in this simple act of attending one he considered to be among his people.

Wence stood back and clapped a weather-hardened hand over his heart. He'd felt King's-fire for just an instant. The world, the great elf, all looked different to him now. "Greatest King," he breathed.

"Evacuation is underway. The sections have been instructed," The Elfking said. "For months, the elves of Mirkwood have seen to opening the passages to Celduin – the river out of Long Lake, the River Running."

"Passages?" Kasia set down his daughter and asked the great elf.

"Yes," said the Elfking. "The chambers of the Mirkwood extend far, though we no longer occupy them all. They run the length of the Enchanted River, and under the Mirkwood Mounds, the Stronghold where, once, elves were born. The hollow places run South. But there are also chambers along the River Running. My elves have been clearing and preparing one of them, which has become known as The Vault of Men. Where it opens is not far from this place, Jan Kasia… or did you believe your King would leave you with no retreat? No haven?"

Cardoc boggled at this, "They're leaving now? There are no bells of alarm through the streets."

The King replied, "I would as soon not invite the enemy along."

There was a stir at the dockyard-side of the Main building. Bregoln Fall's dun warhorse whinnied as it gamboled in. Its sharp sound pealed through the enclosed space. Fully dozens of arrows knocked on him even before the horse had stilled.

Ewon's was one such bow, and he asked, "Yes?"

"No." said the King.

"Lusis," Bregoln turned his horse into the building and it made a few beautiful high steps inside. Men cleared out of the way, which left the King, several of his Elites, and Lusis at the fore.

She squared herself, "There's nothing you can do about this, Bregoln. And there is business afoot. Good or fell, I don't have time for you now."

His tan face pulled into a momentary grimace. "Is this business about you and him?" He jerked his chin at the King and scowled. "I do not choose to believe such convenient business, Lusis, much the same as I disbelieve you have any desire to become a potted elven rose. But that is not why I've come."

The King stepped in beside Lusis. "Say on."

"Quiet, Pretty One. Kindly let the Northern Rangers speak."

The King's eyes widened and he pivoted slowly to Lusis. His beauteous expression was so affably displeased that it was, to Lusis' mind, priceless. His voice thrummed, unhurriedly, "Lusis-dess."

"Bregoln," she was annoyed and stepped in by the great dun horse to look up at him. Her words were more private when she said, "Please don't provoke the Elfking."

He bent over her, his long black hair dancing along the powerful shoulder of his horse, "He's your match? He is?"

"You know. Word reached you."

"That pale, sea-wave, with his dusty deceits, cunning bones, and endless Ages of breathing, is a match for you?" He pulled a face. "You are a smarter woman than that, surely."

The problem was… she was that, indeed. "What brings you here?"

"Lusis," his expression went grave, and the hardened years melted away to the handsome and earnest young boy she'd once known. "I wish you'd just run with me. Why couldn't you have?"

The King's white blonde hair lashed. His lips parted in a great inhalation. "We are betrayed, Lusis. Badly betrayed. We do not have time for this presumptuous child and his wistful yearnings."

An unfamiliar sound rose over Long Lake. Long, high, like the scream of a massive iron gate, but louder still, and, for a moment, Lusis couldn't place it. She felt her troop pool around her, Redd with one hand on her shoulder, and her two big brothers, staring wide-eyed at the doors.

"Lus," Aric asked quietly. "Does that sound familiar to you?"

The King turned to Kasia. "Sound the bells. Warn Men in this land."

The sound came again, and shut down in a rattling cackle.

"Lewegdol," said the King.

Lusis raised her head and shouted at row on row of faces staring, huge-eyed, from balconies. "Get down into the storerooms, underground, there are dragons!"

Now Nema paled and rushed toward the Elfking in a panic. She too was rebuffed by Ewon. "What is that?" she cried. "Please, don't go out there! No one told me about dragons!" And, in the next instant, Bess Bowman yanked her clear of the Elite elf and threw her on the floor.

"What do you know!?" she shouted at the woman.

"Nothing!" said the Madam. "Nothing! What is wrong with you, you stupid, cosseted girl?" Nema pulled herself to her feet and swept the traffic of the floor off her glorious blue dress.

"Long has the family of Bowman stood with the Mirkwood, and long has the Mirkwood stood with us!" Bess pulled a maul from her back. It had a black handle as long as her forearm, and one end of the hammer was hooked into a curved dagger. "Who did not lead you to expect dragons, you traitor!"

Lusis stopped in her tracks and reached to steady the Madam. "Nema, what have you done?"

"You!" Nema scrambled up and swung at Lusis, aggravated that the Ranger Chief could easily avoid her blows. "You fluttered around him, long-legged and lovely, and offered yourself to him as succor to his desolation. But I was already here for him! Why couldn't you leave us alone?"

"Your mind is sick. He doesn't love you." Lusis was horrified at the Madam's notion. "He does not love either of us! You cannot force him to."

"No," she trembled with rage. "I can't."

Lusis backed away and pushed at Bregoln's horse, but it kept moving into her path.

"Lusis!" he said to her. "You will stay in here and away from them."

Icar ducked under the horse's belly to reach his Chief. His sword came to point at the tanned Peak's Man, "Bregoln Fall, if you fail to move this horse out of the Chief's way, I'll move it for you." His sword oriented on the tall horse's neck. "Do not make me."

"Wait!" Steed elbowed past his friend and gestured at the horse. In response, the stallion stepped peaceably backward across the wood floor.

"You part-elf pest!" Bregoln shouted, "You'll get her killed!"

"Only she can do that." Steed got out of Lusis' path, let her pass him, and fell in behind her.

Elsenord pulled a face, "Fall, she is a Buckmaster. How can you have so little faith?"

"You are a young fool." Added Remee, and he brandished the large elven glaive that Amathon had tossed to him. "And if you seek to come between the Lady and the King, I will personally make sure you are a dead one."

Lusis heard this behind her.

"Go carefully," Steed called out. "Go hard." And he stepped back to where Osp stood beside Eithahawn and Dorondir.

The Elflord, Eithahawn, lifted Avonne and handed her over to Osp. "Stay together. It is time to leave." His graceful hand indicated the Council and the Men flooding into the main floor.

He watched the line of lean-cheeked Rangers go calmly to face dragons.

Kasia wasn't the only Council Member to hurry out to see what had befallen Long Lake.

The King stood on the wooden docks while his Elites released the spare barges to float into the River. Getting them back would be a lot of work later. Provided anyone survived. Elves darted out onto the ships off of the docks.

Lusis gestured at Nema, whose long blue skirts swirled around the doorframe and hurried toward a staircase to the streets. Bess caught the Madam and yanked her around with a growl. "Where do you think you're going, Aragennya?"

A loud squall sounded.

It seemed everyone looked up.

A large worm head dragon came to rest, perched atop the stout wooden roof of Kasia's secondary warehouse. It was still being evacuated as the monstrous beast settled on the stone tiles. Its serpentine neck pointed out at the barges, curiously. It watched the flood of elves onto the doc, watched their inhuman leaping from boat to boat, with a streamer of venom dripping out of its jaw.

"Male," said Ewon quietly. "Smaller. Venomous."

"The males are poisonous!" Lusis called out above the heads of her troop. "And dragon blood is sickening. If drops fall on you, wash them away quickly!"

Nema tried to run again.

Lusis caught hold of the woman and turned her on the docks.

As she came around, Nema spit nearly right into Lusis' eye. "Such vileness!" Lusis slammed the thin Madam against the wall of the Main Building and then shoved her sword under the woman's chin. She snapped, "Let me tell you, if you hurt him, I will not kill you, but I will cut off your face."

The woman squealed, "You goatish hag, I would never hurt him!"

Lusis reversed her sword and smacked the woman off the boards of the building, twice. "That, up there, is a dragon. It's drooling poison. That beast can tear a city apart. People are going to die today! What have you done, Nema?"

"I didn't mean for this!" She stared at the dragon, wide-eyed. "I didn't know about… a dragon."

"I have that much. What did you know?" Lusis asked.

Nema shook her head violently. "It's not what you think."

"Stupid woman," Bess yanked the Madam's shoulder, and the Bowman girl hailed Lusis, "Lady Lusis, this is a snake you have here. She tried to buy me for her houses when I turned twelve years of age. Her pretty words and her pleas are falsehoods, as will be any offer of aid or charity. She will say nothing to benefit you. She hates you. Face her, instead, with the one thing she loves."

"Very well," Lusis pulled and Nema flew off her feet, held down only by Bess, on her other side. They towed the woman to the tall, silvery pillar that was the Elfking. His crowned head turned a fraction to look down at the Council Woman.

Lusis hissed, "She won't answer me."

"Nema," the King's voice was a soft purr, "How has it come to this?"

"Come to what?" Released, she swept away tears from her long lashes. "I love you, and nothing has changed. Erebor's eternal lamps will fade to darkness at the end of the world. I will love you just the same, beautiful one. That is what it has come to."

The King turned, "Can you say that? You are about to destroy my Kingdom and your home." His gracious head bent to one side. His silvery hair spun out around his shoulder and Nema smiled with delight. She reached out to stroke it, and his arm, with her fingers. Lusis started forward and clear-headed Bess caught her back. Bowman's canny face was sure.

"Then do not resist," she said softly. "Lay down your arms, and they will show mercy."

"Who are they?" the King asked quietly.

"I will tell you everything," her hand smoothed his arm, "but break this meaningless vow of hers, and show me good faith: hurl the pretender of Angmar into the lake." Her gaze burned with resentment as she glanced at Lusis.

He didn't quite blink, rather, the King's eyelids narrowed on his silver eyes, and nearly shut for a brief moment. Lusis had never seen such an action among elves before. There was nothing more to the expression but that. She looked at the ice clumped water and wondered if she would be expected to take a dip for this King's gambit to work. She knew she would freely do so for the lives of the people of Lake Township. But she also stood with her heart hardening inside her. I am a weapon of the King, her mind churned.

The Elfking stood over Nema, took out his sword, and looked aside at Lusis. At the same time she felt Telfeth's slim hand close protectively on her arm.

"Nema Aragennya, the King of Mirkwood does not negotiate obedience." His sword flickered around at blurring speed and halted against the jump of Nema's startled throat. "I would rather strike your head straight off your faithless shoulders than subject the Istari's warm heart to a moment of such ice and cold. Do not tax me. Tell me-"

The male dragon made a long cackle and dove from the warehouse roof down in what Lusis thought was a breathtakingly lovely arch, to land on the docks.

On its back curled a small woman whose face was obscured by a horned and jaggedly armoured mask. "Come Nema. One can never turn one's back with you. Always, you find trouble."

Nema pointed at the Elfking, who had been pulled clear by his Elites, "But he is mine!"

"Not yet," said the young woman.

Now tendons stood out in Nema's long throat, "No more waiting! You promised me! You swore if I helped you in and out of the Township at will, you would give him to me. Beautiful and vulnerable, a pliable King, supple to my will. He waved a sword at me!" She swung her hand back at the Council, the poised Elites, and the stillness of the listening King.

"He is unready."

"Unready? He is engaged to that part-Angmar harlot!"

The woman in the dragon-seat laughed. "My dear girl, you are the harlot. She is the hero. We do not like heroes in these parts, of course, but let's not lie to ourselves."

Hearing this, Nema blanched and glanced at Lusis. She shouted. "Listen to me! I upheld my end of the bargain."

"That you did, Nema. That you did." The dragon-rider smiled. "Name your terms."

"I want her gone, and I want my clement King to me!"

The dragon shifted. The woman on its back raised a hand that held a long javelin. As the dragon turned, she leaned into a jab. Lusis felt Telfeth move more quickly than she could have on her own. The blade made a whirring in air, barreling straight for her face. She remembered shutting her eyes as she threw herself aside. She felt it on her cheek and yanked her head back.

It sliced through her braided hair and the wood wall thundered as it hit.

A roar sounded at the elven end of the dock.

Lusis opened her eyes and pulled away from the buried javelin just in time to see the flicker of shadow and motion that was the Elvenking going in. Blood sprayed in a high arc.

Telfeth caught hold of Lusis and dragged her under the javelin. They raced toward a sudden surge of elves across the docks. Nema's fingernails scraped along Lusis' arm. Bess Bowman ducked low and hooked the sharp end of her hammer in the woman's thick skirts. She jolted forward on the boards and her loop of motion turned Nema wildly off balance, tangling her legs.

She capsized, and, in the shredding of fabric, plunged into the Lake.

"Run!" Bess shouted and waved her hammer toward the opposite bank of the River.

Lusis saw the problem at once. Wind was roaring over the wings of a huge female worm-head whose hurtling bulk seemed only heartbeats away from them. She spared it no more attention for her footfalls pounded down toward the Council of Lake Township. She snagged as many as she could and got them running with her.

"Run you fool bankers!" Bess spurred others along. She bellowed at the building beside her as well, "Brace for dragon! Dragon incoming! Dragon!"

"Fires! Redd, the tree!" Lusis howled. "Rangers to the King's tree! They will try to take it with dragons and weaken the King!"

Almost as soon as she said so, a dragon arched down toward the end of the lake and tore into the top of the King's tree. Chunks of wood arced out in all directions. Redd howled in indignation, snatched a pike from one of the elves beside him, and hurled it at the dragon. The scales threw it off as if he'd hurled an acorn at it. The same elf snatched the pike as it whirled through air toward the ground.

Kasia grimaced. "The tree is his claim and our fountainhead of plenty in the land. How can we defend it against a dragon?!" Lusis grappled with the Master of Boats and pulled him aside. A hunk of tree hurtled past him and cracked against the ground. Jan Kasia looked upon the dragon, bitterly. "Did Nema want to destroy this place to the last lock and stock?"

"Maybe," Lusis said quite seriously, "if you consider her share of it."

Ewon skidded to a stop before them, his blue eyes on the dragon overhead. The Elites were so fast, they fairly seemed to materialize around the tree. Then the mass of them swarmed the dragon. No one of them remained in its reach for longer than a moment, but several topped to earth, injured by the splutter of venom.

As the Elites cleared, the dragon rolled and crashed from the Silver Beech into the mouth of Forest River. It quickly righted itself and bounded up the embankment. It opened its wings and screamed, a horrible sound like massive sheets of metal twisting that rocketed through the field in which it stood, and tore down emptying city streets.

Lusis felt her blood fairly freeze.

Halfway through the field, Eithahawn, Osp, and many of the locals and Kasia's staff made for the barge to the Halls. The dragon turned its long neck and took them in, and when it roared, Eithahawn's long hair lifted off his shoulders. Avonne shrieked.

Bess Bowman whirled her hammer through air and charged into the field, howling.

Seconds behind came Lusis and her troop, they raced the elves toward Eithahawn, unsure what they might do once they reached him. None of them were prepared to fight dragons, even though Bess' family had a long history of doing exactly that. She hadn't the weaponry for it. But that didn't slow her any as she reached the worm-head. She swung her hammer widely at the beast. The dragon was so surprised that it yanked its head back from her on its snaking neck.

"This is the steel," she swung, "of the black arrow," she dodged the reaching head, "that felled," her hammer caught a long fang of the dragon and snapped it, "Smaug!"

The dragon yowled and she was thrown aside and rolled, shaking her head, back up to her unsteady feet. Her men pulled her out of easy reach.

The dragon raised up, swallowing air as it did so. When it crashed back down, the earth rocked, and its open mouth had taken on an eerie green glow.

"Venom!" the elves shouted. Telfeth dragged Lusis in the direction of the Kingdom's-seneschal. It seemed that everyone was scrambling, not the least of whom was Jan Kasia. He charged for his reaching daughter.

A blast, not unlike a powerful jet of steam, shot out from the dragon's jaws and blackened the snow. It withered the grass, blackened the earth, and was upon them so quickly that running proved futile. It was then that Eithahawn gestured a long hand in air, and a flash of light, pure and blue, arched across the field in which he stood. The jet of venom turned to harmless ash in air, and the elf-light rolled into the Silver Beech. The tree bloomed full of flowers in a matter of moments, its leaves coming to fruition. When the flower petals began to fall away from the beechnuts, wherever they touched dragon's skin, welts and boils appeared.

The thing cried out in pain and began to open its wings to flee.

"Thi!" shouted Ewon – now. And the Elites swarmed. Lusis rushed forward with them, for she had the same terrible idea.

The stink of blood fouled air as she closed in. An elf cried out to her left, having had a splash of venom strike the back of his hand. She saw the huge and crushing leg come around, grabbed the injured elf, and yanked him clear.

Her first stab ran up the one vulnerable seam she could see on the dragon – the small loose bit of flesh where the wing met the flank. She sliced it open and Elites flew in behind her. Telfeth caught hold of her and lifted her over the dragon's rolling back. The dragon screeched, its struggles became wilder and more dangerous, like a ship tossed in oceanic waves. Lusis was thrown off, and crashed into her older brother's chest as he hurried to catch her.

"Redd!" Elsenord threw the axe that had been dislodged back up to the huge Ranger.

"Clear out, Lusis!" Icar came tearing by. "It's rolling!"

But it didn't roll. It fell utterly still.

She looked through the blowing snow and steam at the lifeless dragon. At the end of its long neck, tall, pale, and resplendent, was the Elfking. He drew deep breaths into his chest, and tossed the dragon's severed head into the snow.

"Not bad," shouted the dragon-rider. Her big female dragon landed in the field, her long tail easily ploughing through the deserted camp of the Men of the Peaks. "Not bad for a sprite who is little more than the chattel of a harlot."

Lusis felt stung by that, seeing as she was his contract and not Nema. She pulled free of Remee and shouted, "Come down off that dragon and take off your mask, coward. We'll see who the harlot is then, I suspect."

"Oh?" the woman's helmet turned. "I am forced to wonder, Buckmaster, if you actually are as they claim. For I have heard such stories of you. I am warned, time and again of you. Surely, she is the stuff of the living legend as comprises the Elvenking in the Great Greenwood."

The elf-steel glinted in Lusis' hand as she raised it, "Take off the helmet… and come down here."

"Ah, but… what magic have you, as could stand against me." The dragon queen pointed one of her long spears at the Elfking. "And what magic have you?"

Eithahawn's long hand curled around Lusis' shoulder and he breathed, "We are no match for such a beast. A dragon-rider, or witch-queen, for that is the helm she wears, Lusis. Some slow poison has risen up from the cradle of Angmar." His chest rose and fell with panting, "Please take my father from this place. They are surely for him, Lusis. The mark upon his hand, and upon the hand of Lord Elrond, they are no coincidence."

"Lord Elrond." She blinked, "Where is Lord Elrond now?"

Kasia came puffing up to snatch his daughter from stupefied Osp. "It's more important to ask where," he coughed, "where the orcs and werewolves are, don't you think?"

"Werewolves," Osp's lips curled. He turned at Steed's racing return through the field.

The elf-blooded Ranger panted, "There is no hope for the barge. We need to make for the safety of the Vaults – the caverns the elves prepared for the safekeeping of Men – Osp. All of us. Now." He let off an arrow at a dragon flying overhead. His shot was on-point, but the shaft snapped. The head of the arrow simply ricocheted out into the lake. "Dammit."

"Take them," Lusis nodded to Steed. Telfeth pressed an extra quiver of arrows on the man.

Eithahawn stayed with her a wistful moment.

"They need a leader," Lusis told him. "What… whatever it was that you did, you shielded the tree with a wave of light, Eithahawn. You can protect them as they make their way to safety."

The Elfking's voice rolled out across the field, speaking Sindarin. The volley of water that had spun up from the Forest River now formed itself into a trio of large eagles and shot into the field. They slammed into the dragon and knocked it onto its side, unseating the dragon-rider.

She spat some terrible words, half-pinned by the dragon. It rolled up and backed away without her, and their foe came to her feet. "I summon you, my werewolves!"

They riffled through the trees. The first few huge, snarling beasts broke through, bloodied and full of rage. Lusis felt a sudden certainty that Helin's Raiment of elves had already engaged them.

Certainly, the masked-woman froze in dismay. "So… few?"

"Go," she shouted back at Eithahawn.

He gritted his teeth at the racing wolves and tore after Osp and Steed. Lusis turned and ran along the length of the field. She raised her sword and pointed at the tree line. Rangers, some her own, some Argus Samas' troop, lurched into a run with her. By the time they reached the middle of the field, they were a rough line, flying for the arriving wolves.

She watched Telfeth race up one of the dragon's wings and leap over its back to the other side. The elf maid meant to fill the hole in the line made by the dragon. But Lusis' plan was more devious. She pounded in at such high speed that the sudden course correction she made wrenched muscle, but, as she was set to flicker by the dragon's head, she suddenly hooked to the right. This put her very close to where the queen had her sword out in her hand, and made ready for the approaching Elfking. Lusis controlled her breathing, and her timing.

The world, for her, slowed and quieted.

She heard her inhalations, and the exhalations of her pounding footfalls.

The large female dragon had seen her. Its head was slowly turning. Its round, black, beach-rock of eye fixed on her. Its jaws opened to snap her out of air. The queen raised her blade and made to step forward to block the falling sword blow of the King.

Lusis folded her knees and laid back in air. Her elven boots impacted snow and the leather she wore skipped across it. Her sword reached, reached, barely able to make the distance since the queen had stepped out, but the impact of the King's blade drove her smaller form back and down. The blade hooked into the dragon-rider's flexed knee. It passed through tendons and muscle, and found air on the other side. She thought it might had dove into the woman's left leg, but Lusis lost track of the damage she was doing, because the dragon's head snapped in air right above her. Its chin smacked against her body and bounced her off the snow and cold earth.

She squinted through tears of pain as she slid by under it.

She had no weapon in her left hand. So she balled up a fist and struck it under the jaw. "Curse you, evil thing! Do no harm here today!"

Then she was out the other side in an explosion of blood, skull, and brain matter. She shot over a bump and up to her feet, and seemed to sail over the snow without taking a step. The orc running at her fell down, terrified, and tried to scramble back from the assault of this unnatural woman standing and flying across the snow at him. In reality, she'd encountered the thin coating of ice the King's river-eagles had made, but Lusis stabbed the orc nearest her and kept going until she rolled to a stop in the blowing snow.

Redd made a loud and joyous bellow. "Rangers, ahead!"

Orcs were fleeing from them, heading for the trees, which left the werewolves confused and vulnerable to the glaives of elves, some of which had been handed out among Rangers.

Lusis chopped her way through a reaching werewolf paw and didn't stop hacking away parts until she made it into the screen of trees and realized, right beyond it, line on line of elves in bright armour fought a massive number of Men and orcs, some of the latter astride werewolves. She blinked, and was stunned to see the Men of the Peaks rally their horses. They turned like a pinwheel, galloping along through the field simply laying waste to whatever stood up. The great armoured horses had metal shells bound along their bellies and legs, and their shoes were cleated with dull spikes, for they were trained to trample the rest.

"Winter combat!" Remee shouted at her. "We should be driving the aggressor out into the wind. There's a storm offing, and it howls more fiercely than any werewolf ever could. Do you hear it?"

Hear it? It was sucking the breath out of Lusis' lungs as she reached the edge of the trees. She gasped and nodded at her rugged brother.

He crouched, "Lusis, we must use the thick snow on the higher land against the enemy, drive them up there in repeated routs. The wind, cold, and climb will exhaust them."

She knew this tactic. They would go numb. They would get sloppy. And then, one of these pushes downhill, they would find themselves falling rather than charging. And the Rangers of the North had long said A man falling into battle fell into his grave.

"Hold them high!" Elsenord shot by shouting. "Hold the enemy forces on the highlands. Let the cold be our dragon!" A roar broke over the Rangers, and many, she saw, of the Forces that had joined in.

Downhill from Elsenord Buckmaster, Bregoln heard and nodded. He pulled out a long and curved goat's horn and its sound brought the Men of the Peaks around into a line.

"Helin," Lusis pointed at the elf woman and shouted over the wind. "Get down to her, Remee. You are the sum of generations of winter warfare. Give all to her!"

Remee nodded grimly. "Sail across the snow again, little sister."

She smiled at him as he turned and made his way downhill. Behind her. Telfeth pressed close, and then, Nimpeth. The latter elf pulled her to her feet. "Unhurt?"

Lusis heard it in her head.

"Unhurt here," she searched her friend for injury and saw nothing. Telfeth was also whole.

Amathon came out of the wall of blowing snow and took down his hood. "The fight is in the city, Lusis-Istari. They have somehow passed the walls and all the Forces and Sections there – that is even more than Drivenn's traitors could manage." His head inclined, "And, Lady, the King is abroad on the great elk toward the center of town. He did send me to find you. He is with his Elites."

"He knows that way is where the heart of the lozenge is… on Dorondir's map."

"The beloved King has," Amathon nipped his lip, "a plan."

Warning bells rang between her ears. Lusis swept snow off her face. "Is he all right?"

Now Amathon found it difficult to contain his smile, "The King is well, but he wants you beside him, Lusis-Istari. Will you go to him?"

She panted. "Wherever he is. I will. Lead on."

They passed over a landscape she didn't know. The snow blew so thick that she wasn't sure she'd reached the walls beside Jan Kasia's until she slammed into the logs with one shoulder. Lusis switched to rope mode at once, slowed her heartbeat and focused on feeling her way along without much help from her eyes. The yard to Kasia's was deserted. His house doors were uncharacteristically barred shut. The streets, so usually full of bustle, were grey and empty now.

"I don't know how much help I can be." She gasped.

"Have cheer, Lusis Buckmaster," breathed Nimpeth. "You did make a dragon's head explode."

Lusis' eyes widened in disbelief.

This amused Amathon, whose wine-red brows rose. "There is some hope in that, you must admit, my Lady."

As she passed it, the door to the main building rolled open. Heat and firelight flooded out at her and Lusis slowed. The inside was still distressingly full of workers. Jan Kasia and most of the Council were still among them. One of the serving staff shot through the door and slung a warm white fur around Lusis' shoulders. She bound it to place.

"Lusis!" Kasia called out to her. "I've looked at the map, Lusis, and there are reports of a dragon, or dragons, in the center of that lozenge the elves drew. It's right over the amphitheater. But then, there are rumours of an army of orcs and wolves too… and that can't be. What does it mean?"

She panted and nodded her head. "It means I'm headed there to wade through orcs and dogs and try to kill a dragon."

He opened his arms, "You can't kill a dragon, Lusis. Don't be ridiculous. It is beyond a Ranger."

"Then she is beyond a Ranger." Nimpeth told them. "Give us your draft horses, your river horses, Jan Kasia. It is a long way."

The horses were given without argument. Four of them were hitched to a wagon and it was Bess Bowman who stepped up to drive them. Her head was now bound in a bandage, but she was far from beaten. "Get aboard. I know the way."

They had to climb into the back over extra bows and quivers, and long pikes. Kasia was frantically breaking open boxes in the main floor and throwing anything of use in the back, which included furs to warm them, thankfully.

"Go," Lusis pounded on the wood of the wagon. Workers pushed water skins at them. "Go, Bess Bowman, and ride like Mount Doom is burning behind you!"

Because she knew where she would find the King.

And he had a head start.

It took hours to make the trip to the middle of town.

Clashes had broken out across the central part of the city, and they seemed to want to spiral outward into the city proper. With lines of elves and men, and no reinforcements coming in from the line Helin held, this was not proving as easy as their enemies might have hoped.

The sun was a cheerless ruddy glow through the clouds to the West as the horses trudged through the final rows of houses. One of them had an arrow in his shoulder. He did not complain of it, being longsuffering, as suited his hardy breeding, but it was deep. As they stopped, Amathon got out and went to cover the horses in some of the fur blankets from the back. He pressed some salve into the beast's shoulder and it exhaled a puff of steam. He was forced to simply pull out the arrow, which, with his elven strength, happened quickly. The horse jolted, but was too exhausted to fight. His head sagged as the elf applied a thicker coating of salve.

"He needs help," Amathon said as he returned. He wiped his hands along the thick blankets of fur. His voice woke Lusis again. She'd been watching him. His eyes were on her now. "Are you well, Istari?"

She nodded. After hours of skirmishes Lusis had nearly fallen asleep in the last fifteen minutes. She'd been lulled by the silence, and rocked in the carriage, wrapped in furs. She blinked to awareness now. Every inch of her worn body was unwilling to come out from under the furs. Bess, who had driven them this far and fought beside them, now toppled over from the seat and rolled into the back. She impacted with the shafts of pikes with a grunt.

Otherwise, it was eerily quiet. Lusis stirred herself to go to Bess. Her forehead was bleeding slowly into the bandages. Nimpeth came with the skin of water for her.

"Bess, you need to rest here for a while," Lusis pulled furs up around the girl, and rolled one under her head. She glanced up at Nimpeth, "Leave a bag of water here with her. She needs rest."

"There's no fighting here." Bess' voice was whispery.

Lusis glanced up at the eaves of houses three storeys overhead, "We're in an alley, Bess. As sheltered as we can make you. Just rest."

The girl's brown eyes shut.

Nimpeth covered her head with the fur she was wrapped in. "She will be warm, as will be the horses. That is the best we can do." The elf Elite leaned against the wagon, her hair in a wild dark tumble, and her face speckled and dotted with the dirt of war.

Amathon stepped around the back of the wagon, paused, and then smoothed Nimpeth's dark hair. She turned, leaned her shoulders against the wood, and laid herself against his wide chest. After a moment, Amathon exhaled, "Gi melin, Nimpeth-bess."

Lusis quickly looked away from them, not only to give them privacy, but because she couldn't tolerate their intimacy in her extremity.

"Gi melin," Nimpeth replied in a whisper.

And Lusis realized that she hadn't seen the King in hours.

Thinking it best to give them a moment, Lusis started out across the huge rotunda that was at the core of the great seal on the city. She laid a hand over her sword hilt and walked around the central point in what had been Sauron's lozenge drawn in light. In the distance, a werewolf howled. Some hours ago, the forces of darkness had made it inside the city. Lusis really didn't know what that meant for the people. She paused. The round of roadway seemed to have endured a collapse of stones.

The amphitheater had been built in another Age.

Its stone was of the same brightness of the ruins of Dale. She knew that meant it had been quarried from quartz-rich deposits inside of Erebor, or recovered from Dale itself. A bad Omen, her mother would have said, and she was of the people of this land. Lusis smelled something familiar. She trotted along the flank of the towering wall – its highest stones some six storeys above her head – and found the jumbled breech in the wall. The wide round cobble promenade was littered with broken stone and stinking blood. She hissed sharply in the silence, the smell of dragon was so powerful. Soon, her eyes made out the twisted body of a dragon pinned under stone. Its neck was cut open as if Jan Kasia's head chef had sliced it like a cake.

Lusis quickly took note of something else of importance to her and ran down the crumbled stones to the curled figure of an elf. He had been pulled free of puddled dragon's blood and was breathing fast and shallow. An Elite of the King. Long red hair. She remembered him from the Elite's Chamber, sparring with her Troop and later besting Redd. Now he was dragon-sick and injured by what appeared to be a long and barbed quill. It was bandaged. No one had made an effort to remove it from his sides, for the shaft, itself, was covered in tiny barbs.

She gritted her teeth, extended a hand, and touched the elf. He was, by now, too far down the dark tunnel of dreams to resist.

"Ai. Leave me, neth," he breathed.

Slowly, Lusis straightened. She wasn't about to leave him. But… moving him would be difficult without help. She was set to go back for Amathon and Nimpeth when the fleet motion before her turned into Telfeth – dusty and worn as the young Elite was. "Neth," she said in her light, high voice, "Neth means sister, Lusis-Istari. In the dragon-nadh – dragon chains – caused by exposure to the blood of such ilk, he must think you're Farathel of the throne-room guards. For this is her brother, Celondir." She paused, and her voice actually wobbled, "By Elbereth, he is damaged."

Lusis looked quickly up at her. "He is hurt. He is not beyond help, Telfeth. Bess can get him clear of this place."

"Clear to where?" the girl asked softly. "Where is safe, my Lady?"

That was a good point.

"The Halls. The Vault." Lusis hadn't had any news from either location. She was aware there were enemies in the city, now, but she knew nothing of safe havens.

"It is too far."

"Then she'll tend for him in the cart."

Telfeth reached out, hesitantly, and then smoothed the Elite guard's red hair. It was something that, normally, she would never have been permitted to do. He made a small tumbling of elvish that Lusis didn't understand.

"Talking to his sister," said Telfeth, "telling her that she is precious." She quickly smoothed her emotions and took off her cloak. She gently wrapped it around him so that the dragon's blood, with its sickness, the 'fetter' it caused, as the elves spoke of the effect, did not touch anyone.

Amathon came around the curved wall and hurried down to them. "Celondir. Stars." He was breathless. "Friend-Celondir, forgive this pain." He snatched the Elite elf up and said to Lusis and Telfeth, "Hurry with me. There is something I must show to you."

They rushed behind him, back into the labyrinth of streets.

Bess Bowman had stirred herself. She waited at a cellar door made of stout wood and iron, and nearly twenty men and women crammed the narrowness of the alleyway, all armed. Nimpeth waved them to cover. "Here are men and women of Lake Township," she said lowly, "who have done good work."

Good work, indeed. Inside the cellar, laid out on wool blankets, were six injured elves. Two more were attending them with what healing their bloodied and exhausted bodies could muster, too busy to even speak to her in passing, as they boiled water and tended to injuries.

Bess scowled. "We'll need to wash away the dragon's blood."

One of the older women in the alley turned her head. "Giron. Morgain. Pump water from the well into the trough and let's get the blood off of this one." She turned her no-nonsense face toward Lusis and said, "You're the Buckmaster Chief, the King's woman."

"I – sure. Yes. I am." Lusis wasn't about to dispute details. "Who are you?"

"Mirrin." The woman told her. "I keep this bakery." She clapped the stone wall beside her with a flattened hand. "And I will not allow the brave ones who have been fighting the dragon to lie in my streets and die. No, King's-woman. That will not be me."

"We been running through the ruins," said a teenaged boy, "finding the elves, and bringing them in to be helped, we have."

Amathon inclined his head to them. "Alia, good children."

The boy flushed in his cheeks.

Amathon continued, "I have one of our greatest here. An Elite warrior these two Ages and leader of a Spark of elves. He is imprisoned by the guileful blood of a dragon and impaled through with a spine. Please, will you safeguard good-Celondir?"

One of the healthy but harrowed elves shot out into the alley. "Ai, the smell of dragon's blood is sickening the weak." She said. "I'll cut him from his clothes, we need to wash him clean of it."

Amathon went with her toward the trough at the end of the alley, and Nimpeth, a trained healer, herself, swung down to help the young Silvan man who bustled between the other injured elves.

Lusis sucked a deep breath, "Mirrin, children, did you see the King?"

"We wouldn't know him to see him, kind lady," said Morgain, the young, black-haired girl.

"Oh, you would," Bess assured them. "He is tallest, and he is a silver-blond. He moves in a way that cannot be mistaken, for he speaks the language of dragon-charming, constantly – that is how honed he was to take their heads in his youth."

A large man set down his shovel and exhaled. "Then… then I saw him." He looked amazed as he said so. "He… he was in layers of fine clothes, only dusted with battle. And he had two swords that struck like bolts from the heavens. His hair and shoulders were aglow, it… it seemed. He… why, he…." The man's voice petered away.

Lusis reached a hand and wrapped her fingers around the man's large shoulders. Each word fell out like a drip from the tap of a pump. "Please tell me." She could feel her pulse in her fingertips.

The man's wide, brown eyes took her in. "It hardly seems possible-"

"Then it was definitely him," she reassured. "What did you see, good man?"

"He… he moved with such sureness," said the man, "that he passed under the chin of one of the dragons and struck off its head. But the two others…"

"Two?" Bess asked anxiously.

"Yes," the man nodded. "The two larger had been terrorizing the citizens for a quarter of an hour when he came. They would not risk themselves to his swords… or, so it seemed. But he brought them as close in to attack as he could, and… and it seemed to me that he raised a sword and tumbled the walls of the theatre down on them. And when they lay under the rubble, he took their heads."

Nimpeth looked out through the cellar door. "He… he tumbled the stone walls?" She was wide-eyed as she asked.

"Yes," said the man. "He did. And he went into the theatre, and I could not see him after. It… it seemed he had a quarry inside."

"Lusis," Nimpeth said gravely. "There are, adding good Celondir to this number, 13 elves in this cellar, all of them in need of repair."

"Stay with them," Lusis said quietly.

"No, Lady, and that is not why I mention their number." Nimpeth shook her head, "The King travels with a section, and I have been counting the fallen hereabouts. And, apart from father-"

Lusis turned to her. "Is he in there alone?"

Gravely, the woman nodded. "By my count… yes."

It was then that Amathon came through. He carried Celondir, now drenched and wrapped in Telfeth's cloak, down into the cellar. "We go for the King, Nimpeth-bess. Would you cut this barb and remove it from him?" Lusis followed him in and hurried to help ready the covers that humans were spreading over thick horse blankets.

Carefully, Amathon and Nimpeth set down their friend.

The wine-haired Elite exhaled and inclined his head to Celondir before he turned to Lusis and said, "I go for the King."

She nodded in agreement.

Nimpeth interjected. "I go too. I love him no less than you do. And adar is there."

"You are sure?" Amathon use a hushed voice. "This is your second month, and nearly third."

Lusis glanced at the elf woman.

The Elite set a hand over her belt and said, "That only means we would both die for him."

In the broad and wood-choked cellar of Mirrin Breadbaker, now covered with swaddled and injured elves and the Men who tended them, Lusis realized that Nimpeth was two months into her first pregnancy. She inhaled the wood-smoke air deeply. "Nimpeth, I am your Lady. I am asking you to please consider this new life of yours, and let me safeguard the men you love."

The Elite's quick hand reached out and caught her husband's dark red hair. She watched it glide between her fingers. She glanced up into his hopeful eyes and gravely commanded him, "Come back to me. Bring my father. And my King."

He bowed to her. "Yes, meleth. Or not at all."

"Ai." Next she looked at Lusis and exhaled the words. "Take him."

This was almost more than the deadly Elite could muster, so Lusis didn't delay. She tapped Amathon's forearm, turned, and left Nimpeth to heal and to worry. Telfeth hurried after them, fleet as a young deer. Bess trotted not far behind. The smell of dragon's blood wafted in air, astringent and nauseating, like the smell after a particularly ferocious lightning storm.

Lusis sucked air through her mouth as she ran around the flank of the amphitheater.

Then they all slammed to a halt.

Legolas Thranduilion, his long and buttery hair spinning out from his shoulders in the rising wind, stood up from the remains of a dragon. His blue eyes, the cheerful colour of hydrangea, twinkled in the declining sun. "Adar was here. One can tell." The warrior elf gestured at the dead dragon, "Anyone else lucky enough to put steel in a dragon… they always use a bow."

He hopped down from the stones beside the dragon, and padded toward them. Lusis blinked because, by hopped, she knew her brain meant to say he effortlessly leapt down from a four-storey height and landed with flawless accuracy on the one outcropping of stone that looked steady in the rubble that surrounded them all.

All the elves ringing Lusis bowed. Belatedly, she tried the same, but the Elfprince made a soft negating sound.

"Ah-ah-ah, Lady of the Greenwood."

She looked up at him, ashamed. "My Prince, it is a gamble of your father's."

His head tipped slightly, and the slight merriment was erased by care. "Is… is it?"

She would have thought he would prefer to hear this, but, in fact, he looked no less concerned than the elves around her, who now looked at her and could not conceal their disappointment. The Elfprince said, "Lady… perhaps you do not understand," he averted his glance at the ruins, "how hard it is for me… to watch him long for someone to trust and bring close for so many years." His pale blue eyes jumped up to hold her gaze. "I cannot be his everything and yet retain for myself, anything at all… but I have tried, Lusis Buckmaster. Adar is a powerful and beautiful vessel – the finest at sea – but, below the surface, he is hung upon rocks and taking on water. What will become of him?"

"I don't mean what you think, to him," Lusis said gravely.

"You don't know what you mean," Legolas sighed and turned toward the amphitheater. "I hardly know what I mean to him, and it's been an Age. Eithahawn is the same."

That was funny only because Lusis knew. She knew with a pure and burning certainty, as surely as she could see the wall of butter-bright flame inside the Elfprince, that Thranduil loved his boys more than he loved his own life.

"He's in there," she took out her steel. "This is the central point, it turns out, in a large lozenge of Sauron's fallen house, drawn above the city by the enemy. Drawn… with light. The King has gone inside, all but alone."

Legolas put his head down and exhaled as he absorbed this. He looked up at the sunset and said a gritted, "Of course he has…. Doom's Fires, adar…. Do we know what we face?"

"Well," Amathon noted aloud. "There are dragons-" he gestured at the dead one in the stones.

"So helpful," said Legolas in response.

But Amathon continued, "Orcs, goblins, werewolves, witches, dark Men, and, quite possibly, hungry vampire bats."

"Oh," Legolas' chin dropped a fraction. "Is there anyone he left out?" Amathon thought a moment, pulled in a breath, and Legolas raised a restraining hand. "Rhetorical. Not a literal question. Merely thinking aloud."

"Yes, certainly," bowed Amathon with the utmost respect. "The Elfprince can comprise a list and does not need my assistance."

Legolas turned from him and huffed a laugh. He hefted a discarded quiver from the stones a few steps ahead. "Do we know what we face, Lady Istari?"

"Yes," she said as she fell in beside him. "Dead… who don't know they're dead yet."

Now Legolas' chin rose. "Very well."

Gone were the familiar songs of the winter birds that flocked so thickly along the lake, and the croaking of the unseasonable frogs who persisted in the warm light of the King's Beech. Gone was the whispering of wind through the tall pines. Fires burned in the West of the Township. Cries and rallies roared. But inside the stone walls all sound was blocked as night fell.

Within the amphitheater it was cool, quiet, and still, like setting foot inside a tomb.

And it remained that way until halfway along the stone stands. Then, on the broad stairs that climbed down to the player's stage, a final dragon lay gravely wounded. She was close to death, her head twisted around on her neck so that her eyes could look but down at stone. Her throat was imperfectly struck.

"It can't even see the stars as it fades," Telfeth said softly, mustering pity for a dragon.

"He was busy as soon as he came in here," Legolas said. "He would never leave a creature in such a state. Not even an evil creature. Cruelty is not his nature." Legolas pulled an arrow from his quiver and shot the worm-head through the sword strike, meaning the arrow shot up its neck and slammed into its head. The great body shuddered and went still.

Telfeth exhaled a pent breath.

"They won't show you even that much mercy," Legolas disclosed to her. "What is evil is selfish. What is selfish is cruel."

The light was going, which put Lusis in a near panic. Her eyes couldn't see in the dark. They were running out of time to find her King and have her be of actual use to them. "Where is he?"

"You tell us," Legolas prompted her. "You are bound to him."

She glanced at that, "You're not? You're his son. His own blood."

When he didn't offer an answer, Lusis coasted down the steps toward the stage. She picked up speed as if she were a leaf carried on the wind. As she closed on the flat white surface, she could see a large crack had opened up much of the stage. Down inside it was dark. Cold air breathed out on her.

"In here?" Legolas asked her.

Lusis concentrated on the darkness and… saw a tiny pinpoint of blue-silver light that she feared she was imagining. Cold swept her, worry that it was all that was left of his fire, and she clambered into the broken stage, down over rock and onto… the stone flags of a long hallway. Ahead, she could see firelight, she could hear motion.

"Oh," Legolas' lips curled in undisguised reaction. "I smell dragon's blood in the air."

Crouching in the dark, Lusis glanced around her. "This route is direct. It will lead us into trouble."

"Perhaps they have become complacent," said the blond elf of the Fellowship, "these many hours without sound and without interference, in the heart of their conspiracy."

The heart of the symbol of Sauron the Dishonorable.

And look who came in without as much as a guard of his own. Lusis nipped her bottom lip and glanced at Telfeth and Amathon, and once she had their attention she tipped her head toward Legolas. She hoped she didn't have to say aloud that he was their priority. But they easily understood her.

There was rubble in the passage to the left. She drifted over that way to hunker out of sight, as louder voices fell through the jagged downward path. Legolas and Telfeth flattened to a bend in the wall opposite.

A shadow appeared from what had seemed to be a fissure in stone just ahead of her. She laid a hand on one of her precious remaining throwing knives and watched the figure slide into the half-light. That light glided along long hair, a high cheekbone, and the tall curve of an ear. The elf raised a hand and touched his first two fingertips to his lips in an unmistakable plea for silence.

The voices drew louder still. Lusis shifted fractionally, and Amathon squeezed into the rugged shadow of the wall and rolled up to incredible compactness. Maybe his joints were made of putty. There were men striding up the crumbling path that led outside.

"-and not much trouble, after all."

"You haven't been out in the city, Drivenn."

Gurn Drivenn continued to sound pompous. "I said it to you before, the elves are leaving these shores for the next world – their so-called Undying Lands. There are going to be far fewer than you expect as a result, and the Men of Lake Township are sheep – flaccid and domestic. My soldiers are hidden within the Forces. We will win the day."

"If they are so inadequate, why is the news from your men so mixed?" asked the towering man. Lusis squeezed a hand over her mouth to keep from gasping. She knew not only the voice of the man who spoke to Drivenn, but the tall, broad look of him. That hawk-nosed, dark-blond wall of a man was Kirnor Buckmaster. "It is not a good sign, Drivenn. She needs to take those gilded dolls of hers into Erebor."

"Dolls." Drivenn scoffed. "What a waste. They are ruthless. They are siege-engines. That fool woman will have them trussed in those fool dwarf-forged cages, dotted with gemstones."

"They are prized possessions." Drivenn rolled his shoulders. "It is a time to look to Men, Kir."

"And I do," mused Lusis' uncle. "If only my lost and wandering kin could do the same. It's a matter of time, before we take the North. The Fell family may be headed up by a young fool… but the elder-Fells see the way."

They passed out of earshot.

Lusis crumpled around terrific pain. It lanced through her, physically, even though it wasn't a blow that had been delivered by any weapon. She felt her eyes bead up and overflow. Amathon clasped her shoulder. She didn't respond to him, and he quickly darted away.

It was unbelievable.

For some reason, her memory played out for her, the first time her father had set her on the back of a horse that Kirnor held for her. She'd clawed away and clung to her uncle, because she was afraid, and, even that long ago, Lonnan had driven away the three oldest Buckmaster boys with a switch, because they wouldn't leave her in peace. On the boards, Remee had crossed his fingers. Elsenord had watched this seven-year-old project of his father's, unconvinced. But Kirnor had held her carefully, even if he had scoffed 'This is not a Buckmaster-maid, Nev, this is… a mop, a terrified and sodden mop'. But her father hadn't given in. Even after everyone had left them. He'd cajoled, encouraged, tried to make a game of it, tried to talk her through. The pony had looked on all this curiously. Walking around the enclosure, holding her hand, Nevrmen had realized aloud, 'But then… you're not afraid of the horse, are you, little light? You're afraid of the bridle. The bit.'

Lusis didn't know when her family had fragmented, had stopped loving one another, and started betraying the firm, kind light that was Nevrmen Buckmaster, she only knew that the penalty for it would be death.

She opened her eyes and stood slowly up from behind the stones in which she'd hidden.

"Lady Lusis." Dorondir bent across the stones. He saw, in her battle-smeared face, emotions so raw that he recoiled from her. "Stars."

All the elves fell back. Legolas turned his golden head to the stone wall.

Bess breathed, "You are terrible to behold, Lady Greenwood. What possesses you?"

"That man… is marked," she panted with fury.

"The traitor, Gurn Drivenn?" Amathon asked quietly.

"No, friend-Amathon," she shook her head, "The traitor, Kirnor Buckmaster."

The shock made Amathon's pale eyes go wide. He reached to steady himself against his wife. And she wasn't there. He looked to Dorondir, and the half-Noldor's chin rose, his green eyes were hard. He quickly shut away the thoughts he feared she could see in his gaze. "Oh, Lusis." The inexplicable death of Nevrmen Buckmaster of which he had heard, was unravelling. When he had recovered enough, Dorondir Hastion bowed his head to her. "Lady, he is yours."

"Where is the King?" Lusis asked.

He glanced down the dark tunnel, "I am a harbinger of the Raiment." He glided forward and stepped back into the shadowy fissure from which he'd come.

"What does that mean?" Lusis followed him, full of a rage that numbed her to fear. "The battle has leaked into the Township, Dorondir, fires burn, and war can be heard. If the Raiment were doing well enough to be this close, there would be no such noise and confusion in the streets."

"Some fire. Some noise." Agreed Dorondir as the procession crept along with him. "They hear and see what is meant to be heard and seen."

Now Amathon breathed, "Meant to be?"

"The Aglareb – the Special Forces of the King." His green eyes found her in the darkness, vaguely chatoyant. "They are trained Elites, it is true. But they are also his foremost spies, some of them schooled in cunning by his own hand – you must tell none of this."

Lusis was so stunned by this that her rage stumbled over itself. "Is he staging… the advance of Drivenn's Forces through Lake Township?"

"Perhaps some. The plan was to mislead." The elf nodded quietly, clearly an elf of the Aglareb.

Now Bess glanced up at him, "But your numbers are too thin to repel the army of the enemy, you elves, we heard."

He turned her way. "My friends, the Elfking knew that trouble was coming. What, I ask you, do you suppose he did?" Dorondir seemed amazed by their assessment. "Wait? Fail to plan? Is that him?"

Legolas made a soft puff of amusement. "He plans, adar. He plans schemes around his strategies."

Bess shook her curling head, "He plans… plans around his plans?"

"Yes. If I could broach how bright he truly is…." Legolas averted his smile down at the broken stone to hide the great warmth he felt. "Long has adar foretold a need for Elite spies. Now he has his Aglareb – his glorious ones. They will be as bright and deadly, as he is, himself. And they will be keen. Perhaps… the coming of the new Age forced his hand?" Now the Elfprince glanced at Lusis. "Enemies among elves and Maiar are, in some ways, easier for us. They are known quantities with which elves share some common comportment. Enemies among Men are not so easy to understand… but our spies are trained to do so."

"An army of spies," Bess said quietly. She shut her eyes and exhaled. "Do… do we have hope, yet? Is that what you're trying to tell us, good elf?"

"There is hope yet."

Lusis suddenly realized there could only be one way for Dorondir to be here. She felt her eyes widen. "Where is Lord Elrond?"

The spy shut his eyes and went still.

"He's in here." Lusis squeezed the hand she laid over her chest.

He didn't open his eyes as he told her, "They have him."

Lusis had held her breath so long that the world did a slow loop. She set her hands on her knees and breathed deeply. "Oh gods. Where is Glorfindel? Where is the King with Ewon, do you know?"

"I do not know where my King and Ewon may be." Dorondir said quietly. He seemed slightly sickened by having to say so. "But… Glorfindel."

She chose to believe that great blond Noldorian was yet alive. "Take me to him."

Dorondir bowed his head to her. "Yes, my Lady, but it will be a difficult path."

He led them to the fissure he'd emerged from and squeezed his body into it, gracefully. Elves were very flexible. Human children were as close as one could come to their ability to fit into places. Lusis was very glad that she had always made conscious efforts at doing the stretching and flexibility training which was handed down to her from the Women's Way her mother had passed to her. Women warriors had somewhat different skills, and the training leaned to perfecting their bodies for leaping, dodging, and great elasticity. Bess also had had some of the same training, it was clear from how she insisted on helping Lusis cut away the lengths of long skirt on her breezy elven scout's dress.

Even with that, both women were stretched to the end of their tolerance getting through the tightness of stone.

And Lusis hated the feeling of being trapped more than anything in life.

She was shaking when they emerged from their climb through, and then down, into the dark, close fissure. Her heart was hammering with fear she fought to contain. In fact, she stumbled out.

"Lady," Telfeth hurried to her as Lusis dropped to her knees in an open cavern. She was still closed in on all sides, but the space was larger than the hall at Kasia's. She felt powerless to move, closed in this stone crate.

Bess passed from the deep crack, dropped to her knees, and closed her arms around Lusis' shoulders. This was automatic.

"We did it," she shuddered. "I wasn't sure I could."

Lusis wrapped her arms around the quaking girl while the elves stood by. Her voice was strained as she panted, "Any extremity… for my King and my people."

It took a few minutes, but young Bess Bowman gathered herself in the darkness. She clasped hands with Lusis. "Lady… let's deliver them."

They rose and Bess turned to checking her weapons. Lusis made to do the same, except Dorondir extended a pale hand and pushed her hair out of her eyes. He set his warm hand on her cheek. She looked up at him. His green eyes, in the low light of the fire Amathon had struck, were rueful.

Lusis took a step forward and he folded her in an embrace. She leaned against him and said to him, "Friend-Dorondir, tell me we won't come back this way."

"I cannot tell you so." He sounded so sorry.

She exhaled into the curves of the leather armour at the base of his throat, sure she couldn't make it through that again. Everything in her shaken spirit rebelled. She couldn't face that fissure alone, "Stay close to me."

"Yes," he told her. His hands seemed to be tidying her hair.

"Then," she pulled away from him and turned to her weapons, "I will find a way to kill the fear."

She looked up into the averted gazes of Elites, whose behaviour Bess modelled. It was Legolas Thranduilion, the Greenleaf of Greenwood, who stared at her. He shut his eyes a moment. His motionless expression had shifted by the time he opened them again. "Spy of Rivendell, where is Glorfindel?"

The spy backed away. Pointedly, he did not look at Lusis. Instead, he bowed, deeply, to the Elfprince and he said, "We are close. Please follow me."

Legolas passed Lusis and followed the half-Noldorian. They hurried down the face of the cavern and found a gap into which they easily fit. Lusis held her breath going in. It was roomy, compared to where they'd been. She pressed the stone with her hands. Dorondir glanced back to her. He, too, was no fan of tight spaces.

"At least this crack in the earth could fit Steed through… if not Redd." She breathed evenly.

Amathon laid a hand on her shoulder. "Find your inmost serenity, Lady. Accept this tomb of stone for what it is and you will be able to move through it in harmony. We are close, recall."

They emerged into a large crack that firelight flooded with so much light that Lusis and Bess were blinded, as they came out and flattened to the stone behind Dorondir. Ahead, a lip of stone rose. Glorfindel was pressed against a ledge. He spied on the noise and whatever threw the light and shadows from below. His eyes were wide as they arrived.

He reached for Lusis, paused to set fingertips to his lips for silence, and then took hold of her shoulder. Amathon braced her other shoulder. She peeked out over the lip and down a mere storey and a half, into a large rounded space that appeared to have been storage for the amphitheater, now caved in on one side to reveal a large tunnel that ran Northward.

She looked at the straight cuts in the stone, and the beautiful parallelism, and Lusis eyes widened. She'd seen this before. Inside Erebor.

'Dwarves cut this? Even though Dorondir said this directly in her thoughts, Lusis felt as if it was still a whisper.

Now Glorfindel was grim. 'They let these forces into the city. We are betrayed.'

Lusis shook her head. She sort of… thought at them, 'I don't see treachery here, Glorfindel. That passage is old and worn, and there cannot be enough dwarves in Erebor to both build it and guard the-'

The noise increased steadily. The room echoed with the footfalls of marching men. Werewolves growled and snarled, driven ahead of Gurn Drivenn's traitorous Forces. Orcs snapped whips overhead in air and shouted in their garbled language.

Bess leaned in against Lusis' ear and whispered. "I have heard rumours of tunnels. The dwarves used them so they were not seen by Men on the way to the Old Forest Road which they cut through the Great Greenwood. They did not all summer in the mountain, it is said. Those old legends also spoke of a secret way to move gold and stones into Erebor."

Lusis moved to whisper to Bess, "But the mountain was already full of gold."

"Don't you know the story of the old dwarf King? He wanted to stand on high, above all beings, atop his riches? He wanted more than the mountain could give?"

'These tunnels are the old way in for supplies to the mountain,' she told the elves. 'Supplies and still more riches.'

Bright-eyed Glorfindel glanced at her, 'The Lord and King passed that way, Lady. If the roads go to Erebor, then that is our way now.'

"We can't go through these tunnels." Lusis exhaled. "The way is blocked with troops."

Amathon brightened. 'Lady, you'd have to be used to sheltering within living stone. There will be utility tunnels, not only to test the soundness of the stone ahead before digging through it, but to give a means of escape should the excavations collapse.' He actually sounded like his wife, the tour guide of the Halls of the Elvenking.

'There will be guards within them.' Telfeth said with certainty.

'You may call them guards if you wish,' thought Legolas as he took down his war-bow. 'I prefer to call them target practice.'

Glorfindel actually smiled as he rolled to his feet in the recesses of the crack in the stone. 'We go down into the room when the troops pass, and we find the tunnels. And if they cry out when you put an arrow through them, Elfprince, what odds? Orcs and wolves are a hurricane of noise and cries.'

Legolas looked so pleased, 'No one will know.'


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Lusis couldn't have imagined she would ever range through dwarven tunnels, underground. She loped through the dark, mostly blind, but trusting in the sureness of the elf before her, and Telfeth's presence close behind. The dwarves cut such even floors for themselves. Where light from the main tunnel punched into this escape hatch, she saw the most beautiful and balanced ribbed archways overhead, some three stories. The walls had long, curved cuts as if the pale stone might be waves and drifts in settled snow. It was so beautiful, and just a utility tunnel. The dwarves had cut such a trail of beauty through this landscape.

They'd been running upward for a long while, making very good time. True to his word and his exemplary eyesight, Legolas had shot down every hall guard along the way. By now that was a small army of dead orcs – they'd stopped counting. Glorfindel dragged them further into darkness. Amathon or Telfeth reclaimed the elf arrow. Dorondir cleaned the arrow and handed it back to Legolas. This was as smooth a rhythm as the ticking of a clock, which soothed the metronomic mind of Glorfindel.

"Light ahead," Legolas whispered.

The cold of the mountain had been rolling down onto them for a while now.

Lusis could smell the stillness and the faint ozone of dragons ahead.

"Smaug's castle," Bess exhaled at the scent. "It does reek."

The utility tunnel ended in, of all the sane things in the world, a stone pocket door. It was ajar. It had been ajar, from the cobwebbing on it, since the days of Thrain. The elf spy dropped to his knees and his long body slinked forward enough for him to peek out.

He leaned back with his cheeks pale.

"What is it?" Glorfindel grumbled.

Dorondir's voice was thready. "Is… is it possible to have… so much gold?"

"We're above the Counting Room." Lusis noted and wished she had Redd with her. She looked at Legolas. "We are breaking all law."

"They have Lord Elrond, and my father," he told her. "If the dwarves march on the Mirkwood over such a deliverance, then so be it. I am not afraid of dwarves."

"Okay," she breathed deeply. "The Counting Room is like a sea. Get your bearings before we climb down into it."

Glorfindel shook his head a few times after he examined the gold below him. His expression had darkened with disapproval. "Avarice." The remaining elves looked shocked, though not thunderstruck, like Bess.

They made their way out and down dark and narrow steps to the golden sea. Bess Bowman walked over the coinage, dazed. "But my people… they have even gone hungry."

"The great Northern Bowmen," Glorfindel said bitterly, and his tone was laced with pity, "who brought low the dragon who commanded this cache of gold, gone hungry in the winter cold, when some large share of this wealth," his blue eyes found Bess' stunned, pale face, "is your own." On the heels of this, Legolas looked across at the girl's brown curls, curiously.

"Don't touch it. It's still covered in dragon's sickness, yet," Lusis warned.

The Elfprince bent and scooped up several coins. He held them in his softly luminous hand. Lusis watched the fire of his being travel through him. His palm lit below the gold and the bright metal was lost in the sudden gush of the neophyte King's Light inside of him. He had learned this trick at his father's knee. It seemed he didn't even know he knew it. Now that the Prince held the impure dragon's gold, the trial of his fire happened by reflex. He turned and passed the coins over to Bess. "It seems harmless to me."

"Take only what he gives you," Lusis warned the girl.

Bess held the five gold coins in her hand, stupefied.

Lusis noted, "The Elfking can also help… if he is hale."

A sing-song of pleasantry drifted down from overhead. "My, my. Of course he is hale."

Everyone froze in place, for there was no cover to rush to in the sea of gold.

Lusis turned herself to look at the tall stair to the Royal hallways above. On a landing that overlooked the sea of blinking gold, was slender Nema Aragennya. She smiled and gestured at Lusis. Her merry voice floated down, "I would never harm him, as I have said before."

Legolas' bow flickered up with an arrow knocked.

"No. Information," Lusis whispered. She had restrained his powerful elven arm. When sense returned to his pale blue eyes, Lusis stepped out and stood before their small band. "Where is he, Nema?"

"Safe," she came down a few more stairs, grand in long red velvet and layers of lace and golden silk. She opened her thin arms. "You ruined my dress… but I had one prepared for this escape. It is in the King's colours, of course. Do you like it?"

She did a little twirl. The dress was dazzling. It blinked with gemstones from the mountain.

"You look divine," Lusis exhaled. And it was as true as it was infuriating.

"Ah, yes. I should congratulate you…" she giggled. "But, of course, this calamity is your only wedding gift, as it is your only gift in life. You grew up out of it like a Bloodroot blossom. You waded to him out of strife and combat, and that is all you can bring into his life."

"We are not wedded." Lusis said calmly. "We are contracted together."

"And even that is too close." Nema opened her long, slim arms, "This is your sign. This is a vision of your future together, and the reason why you are wrong for him, Buckmaster goat. All destruction you have wrought."

Lusis' chin rose. "We. We have wrought, Nema. You are a part of this."

"Fie, it is your doing. His beauty has driven you mad," Nema snapped in retort. "And you are too late. Let me be the first to tell you that our presence in the Lonely Mountain means that we have won."

"They are departing from here," Dorondir surmised in a low voice. "This will be our last chance to stop them and deliver the King."

"Of course, if you kill me, you will never see him again. Not even to say goodbye," Nema's smile was as beautiful as ever. "I am the only thing that keeps him safe."

Lusis shut her eyes. "Where is he?"

"Would you like to know?" the woman stopped with one toe of one tiny shoe in the gold. "Would you like to see him again, Lusis… one last time? I… I would like that for you, I do admit."

Without hesitation, Lusis walked toward the woman. "Just tell me what I must do for that to happen, Nema. What must I give you?"

"The great pleasure," the flesh around the woman's eyes crinkled as her cheeks mounded with joy, "of watching your pure, perfect heart breaking." She was so pretty. And so warped.

"Her mind has failed." Legolas' aim reoriented, as did Telfeth's. There were Forces men lining along the stone railing above Nema now. Lusis never looked at them. She, frankly, didn't care that they existed. Every iota of her battle-honed attention struggled to read Nema's small, heart-shaped face. Finally, Lusis drew a deep breath. "If you are ready, Nema… you will see it."

Aragennya uttered a bell-like laugh. It was the life of the ballroom and lit in air like a trapped bird inside of the mountain. It stirred Lusis to regret. She shut her eyes because she didn't want to see this woman's fate before her. With all their conflict, it saddened her that she would likely kill this woman tonight. But of all the things that Lusis had been born to do, and among the many things at which she excelled, combat came first.

"Does it hurt?" the woman burbled.

"Yes, it does." Lusis said. She opened her dark eyes, having given up hope for the Madam at long last, and steadfast to her course.

Nema inhaled and exhaled in delight. She opened her arms in air and brought them together like a girl, so she could clasp them to her. "Ah, I know how you feel. I love him so. I am drunk on the air he breathes. It is wonderful. He is wonderful. Having him is like living in a dream."

"He will live forever, Nema." Lusis said.

"Of course," she smiled. "And I will not. But he will be mine for as long as I draw breath. You are too dim to see. I will ever be welcome in this city for securing the King for them. All the worry. All that anxiety. Wondering if we please him enough that he will retain the land, or when he will leave. He will never leave. He is in my possession now, and when I fail, his indenture will pass over to the city on the Lake. He will be their light forever, and I will be his greatest regret."

Legolas lowered his bow, "Indenture?"

"Shush, pretty one." The Madam smiled at him. "You are lovely too."

"Nema… where is he?"

The woman raised a hand. Several of the shuffling Forces on the level above moved. Their boot-heels clapped out an obscenity on dwarven marble. As they grouped around a wheel of metal and turned it, chains clanked in the darkness overhead.

Gilt cages lowered.

"What is it?" Telfeth breathed. Her arrowhead searched the towering dark.

"Hold your fire," Amathon cautioned. "The King's life depends upon it."

Now came fleeter running in the upper hall. Everyone looked sharply. "Fool woman, what are you doing?" Ellethiel Tatharion cried out. She hastened down the stairs, saw Lusis and the pod of elves with her, and halted sharply. Her expression went cold. She stilled and seemed to stop breathing.

"I understand now," Lusis laughed bitterly. "I understand why you didn't want us to ride out from your keep when the white horses of Rivendell came in your gates. I see why you were afraid of the Elfking's busy head."

The woman admitted. "In all schemes… he is the spoiler. Of all nights to arrive… the night of the Lord of Rivendell's delivery to Tatharion?"

Although Dorondir's training got him through that moment of blinding betrayal, Amathon had to restrain that other son of Rivendell, Glorfindel. In the end, only Legolas' quick, sharp command stilled the elves.

This meant that the Slaughter of orcs had been sent to do away with Lindir and his guard, Raineth, along with Glorfindel, and Dorondir. Her fists balled up. This must have been the goal, since Lusis had already gathered the Lord was for Ellethiel and Tatharion, the way the King was for Nema and Lake Township. "Ellethiel Tatharion, you have wronged the elves of Middle Earth and shamed your kin."

She sounded a small note of dark humour. "Buckmaster, they are abandoning us."

The half-elf woman's chin rose. She continued down the steps. "Tell me, what is the secret? How did your troop find our Lord so quickly?

Lusis couldn't do that, though she did know. She couldn't process the question.

The cages had touched down against the coins and ingots of gold. Inside the closest, a white-blond head tipped, the crown of Winter Deer glinting, but his intelligent silver eyes were dull and vacant. Lusis felt a blast of faintness. Her King. He sat on a beautiful wooden chair modelled to look like the elk-antler throne of Mirkwood. His hands were folded, sedately, in his lap. He looked incredibly beautiful, still dotted in the blood of fighting, still with his swords at his side. But his fire was a line of crawling blue inside of him, all but extinguished.

She knew only that she turned and ran for him. Somewhere behind her back, Nema was laughing.

Lusis' plunging body impacted the cage, and it hurt in her bones, but with her arm stretched until her shoulder popped, and her joints and tendons burned, Lusis couldn't as much as brush the silk of his clothes with the tip of a fingernail. She made a frustrated cry with the effort.

The voice from behind her stilled her. No one else would have had the power.

"Adar?"

Lusis withdrew her arm to turn to the Elfprince. His face was stark.

'Adar?" he tried sending his thoughts out. Lusis heard the call, but there was nothing at the other end but the bottomlessness of a well tunneled leagues through the world.

Legolas stabbed the treasure below him with his bow and took two quick steps to the cage. This close to him, his father had never failed to answer him. Never in life. Legolas breathlessly pressed the white-golden bars in a struggle to maintain control of his emotions. And as desperate as Lusis was for her King's freedom, she had to reach along the curving cage to shut her hand over the back of Legolas' wrist. His eyes were closed now. His forehead rested on metal. He didn't seem to breathe.

"Legolas. We will need you for this."

"But I didn't get to see him," the Elfprince was quiet, his sweetly melodic voice gone flat and numb, "I came home. I didn't see him."

She jostled him. "Your father needs your strength."

He backed away from the bars, but his eyes never strayed from his tall, pale father. Legolas' hand found the bow standing in the gold. "What have they done?"

Lusis scrubbed her cheek with the heel of her hand, "They've banked the fire in him, Legolas. Without it, he is like a dreamer, only barely aware of the world. Scarcely interacting at all." Before this, Lusis hadn't known that it was the flame – that Secret Fire – that had invested the elves with life. She blinked at the King. At one time, all elves had slept like this. It was the fire that gave them presence, gave them consciousness, in the world.

She looked to the second cage to find the Lord Elrond, in a wooden chair sculpted to mimic leaping water, as if from a waterfall. His skin seemed grey, and his long, lustrous hair limp, lifeless, and without light. In him, the fire was… different. Not a low line, but a single, fearful candle flame of violet. Lusis' head turned, quickly, back to the King.

Suffering the same fate… why were they different?

Ellethiel exhaled and crossed the gold to Legolas and Lusis. "I am sorry, Lusis Buckmaster. I truly am. But the great elves of this world are rare commodities now. Worse, Gondor's throne has its own. Soon that nation will be run by half- and part-elves who command great power. So goes the race of rivals and great houses to secure their own lines. In the high halls of power, having no such blood will be as throwing down all arms in surrender before Gondor, and, frankly, one cannot keep the blood of the Dunedain alive without elves to seed the lines. Without this, what I am will cease to exist. Our culture will be no more. Do you wish for a world without Rangers, Lusis Buckmaster? Do you wish for a world where no power can oppose the might of the elf-children of Gondor?"

The Elfprince stepped in front of the cage that held his father and waited.

Ellethiel watched him. "Ah. You will join them soon enough, Greenleaf. Don't you see?"

"Give me my father, if you wish to live."

"Of course," Nema said smilingly. She still stood on the steps with one foot planted on the first coins of gold at the stair. "Why don't I open the cage and let you go to him, little beauty?"

With Nema distracted, Ellethiel's gaze glided to Lusis. Her voice was low, "Let me take my Lord to the safety of the Northern foothills. He does not have to strength to weather this fight."

"I would say yes to you," Lusis replied, "except you cannot be negotiated with."

"Fortunately, it doesn't matter what you decide. If you defy Tatharion we shall take Inilfain, I swear you that. We have his sister. She can find him anywhere. And he would die for her."

"Are you threatening your own family? How can this be good?"

The part-elf averted her gaze in shame. "I will protect him, Buckmaster, so that when you resist, as you know you will, he will be far from danger."

Lusis stepped out of the woman's way. "Glorfindel."

The part elf glanced her way in passing. "What?"

"He will wear your skin." Lusis glanced over her shoulder at the woman.

"Let him come," the half-elf woman scoffed.

Lusis glanced over the elves behind her. They were frozen in readiness, and Bess, among them was staring at the gold with a faraway expression.

The Istari felt the room slow. She lifted her gaze to Nema, who was still smiling on the last of the steps. Her dark stare passed beyond the Madam, to the flawless stone railing, cut by dwarves, along which there lined Forces men loyal to Gurn Drivenn. She counted five bowmen, and ten swordsmen. Lusis turned her head to take in Legolas. She could see that he was watching the bows of the nearest three archers, but his quiver was over his shoulder. Telfeth's quiver was war-slung, and lay against her ribs for quicker drawing. She stared up at the line of soldiers as well.

Dorondir was relaxed and stood with one hand on Glorfindel's wrist.

Amathon was close to Lusis, just off her right shoulder, but Legolas was closer the cage on the left, which meant there was a good amount of space between her and the Elfprince. She listened to Ellethiel's light steps in the gold and turned her left foot just enough to tip her body in the proper direction. She saw Legolas' blue gaze glint. His chin fell a fraction in agreement.

In those short seconds where Lusis sized up the room, Nema stopped laughing for long enough to scoff, "I have won, oh, unspoiled princess of the North. For all your virtue, I have already-"

Under her voice, Lusis heard the jingling of keys, and the clicking of a lock.

She swiveled her body around and down. Her boots dug into gold and held fast. She threw herself out and over the downhill trend of the gold, this made no noise but a sudden jingle, which wasn't much warning.

Nema cried out. Bowstrings juddered in air. Lusis couldn't see what had become of her friends behind her, but none cried out. Ellethiel turned just in time to see the immediate problem. Lusis pulled her sword in midair, but the blade impacted, jarringly, with the silver bars of the cage and dislodged, rather than striking the head off the half-elf. They landed hard and slid on the gold a good ten to twelve feet.

"You are lucky," Lusis spat, unable to locate her elf-sword in the expanse of metal.

"Fool!" Ellethiel brought up her knee and drove the wind out of Lusis' middle. The half-elf pushed her away and scrambled up, sore, but functional. "Nema! To his cage!"

Both the Madam and the part-elf started running for the bars of Elrond of Rivendell.

Lusis dug her fingers in and scrabbled up the mounds of gold. Her hand snagged the woman's boot and made her stumble, but it didn't stop Ellethiel. She threw herself forward and snagged her other heel more solidly. Ellethiel fell and the gold under her let go. Lusis slid some two feet, but the part-elf slid more than six. Lusis got up, dug in her heels, and ran.

She had no sword. She had no way to throw off arrows that suddenly arched for her. So she braced and swerved to one side.

The gold slithered. A great red dragon's scale rose up before her and the arrow tapped on it like rain. A second of Smaug's great scales already rose to her left to intercept the arrow there.

She reheard Amathon's words from within the Halls of the Elvenking, and saw the sunny white ribcage over the Great Gallery, embedded in stone and braced to the cavern walls. 'A dragon's bones haunt the slayer. They are never far.' This was Bess Bowman. She'd felt the old bits and pieces of Smaug in this mountain, and being the direct line of Bard the Bowman, slayer of that famous last-known greater dragon, she called to the scales of the beast to do her bidding. Just as the Elfking called to Gorgorax to shore up his Kingdom.

As she broke from the row of rising dragon's scales so large they were the size of barn doors, Lusis cried out. She saw that Nema's hand reached for the keys still in the lock of Lord Elrond's cage, and surged forward with a fist falling into solid connection with the woman's white jaw. The impact made a snapping sound. Lusis rode the impact down with the reeling body of the Madam.

Then Lusis tried to rise. An arrow passed through her hair just above her ear, and blood ran down along her temple from the close call. That archer tumbled off the railing and fell into the sea of gold, dead. Legolas shouted, "Friend-Lusis, they have archers among the reinforcements!"

"Just a moment, Lady!"

Telfeth was off to Lusis' right, tucked behind a scale. She rolled around the side, and went into a tumble. At points in her roll through the gold she snapped off arrows. One passed through the eye of a Forces soldier on the landing and a second sliced through the wrist of a man reaching back to take an arrow from his quiver.

Legolas shot nearly straight up into air. It fell over the tall railing and into the line of men, slicing through an archer, downward, through the nest of his throat. The bizarre shot was so incredible, the soldiers were spooked along the rails. Lusis risked getting up. She turned the lock on Lord Elrond's cage, opened it, and kept the keys. "There's only one!" she shouted. Then she looked down at Nema.

She threw herself down and searched the Madam for the key to the King's cage. She found it in the woman's bodice on the Mithril chain with the teardrop. The chain was long enough that she could yank it off over the woman's curled head, otherwise she would have pulled Lord Elrond's blade from his still figure and struck off the Madam's head.

Relief flooded through her, followed by fear and extremity.

The chains were drawing up.

The Forces were lifting the cages again, and they would soon be hopelessly far above.

Despairingly, Lusis watched the King's cage leave the sea of gold.

She could not reach him. She did not have time.

So her cry was angry as she turned and flung herself into Elrond's cage. As quick as she was, the drop was over a storey when she threw them both out of it again. She prayed that landing on the ruthless gold wouldn't snap his bones.

She needn't have worried. Glorfindel caught the Lord of Rivendell out of the arch of their fall.

Behind him came Amathon. Lusis dropped into the big elf's arms.

"The key," Lusis barked to him.

"The King," he pushed her along the gold.

She was running as soon as her boot struck. Too slow.

Unlike Legolas.

He had backed up for a long leap through arrow-stroked air. He targeted his father's cage. She angled her path and pushed her strides to their tooth-jarring limit. There were only seconds left to intercept him, and Legolas was as fleet as a leaf on the wind.

When she saw his arm come up before her she cast the Mithril chain around it, and he was by her so fast she was pulled along by the gust of his passage. She was flung out on her side in gold. Her hand splayed for purchase. Arrows pocked the wealth before her. One buried itself in a soft ingot just between her thumb and index finger. She scowled up at the archers. "Stop it, you pillocks!" She slammed a fist into the gold and shrieked. "I will hunt you down!"

But they hadn't moved quickly enough to strike Legolas. His agile body rocketed up and struck the cage such that he upset everything inside, the cage swung so violently. The King, so temperate and serene, slammed into the bars on his side, his sunny hair suddenly flying against Legolas' cheek.

A woman's hot voice rang through the cavernous darkness. "Kill them." Which was when the werewolves vaulted the railings above them.

Bess shrieked. She tossed herself downhill and rolled through the gold with a wolf straight behind her. It snapped air above her tumbling body.

There were nearly twenty wolves. Too many.

Amathon tore past and tumbled in a spiral with a werewolf snapping at his sword arm. Telfeth shot an arrow through the jaw of a wolf only to be worried at by a second great beast. And it took an arrow from Legolas to fell that one.

The gold began to move. Lusis spilled flat down on her belly as the Counting Room shifted under her. She spun up into a tall wave of shimmering gold that smacked against the oncoming wolves, but though the deep well of gold swamped and swallowed many of the animals, she passed harmlessly out through the back. She knew of only one person's power to do such a thing, and, only then, with water. As she slid down the back of the swell, Lusis glanced up at the King's cage, which still swung widely. Legolas had his arms through the bars. He held his father close to him. The Elvenking's line of blue fire showed a sudden bubbling of white-hot flame.

She cocked her head at this as the gold laid her down flat again.

Someone charged by her. Her sword hilt impacted with the gold by her chin. She hurried to catch it before it slid away.

The werewolf that lifted off and sought to dive at her was suddenly cut into halves along the thinning of its midsection. A second fell to a bright elf travelling so fast that Lusis, trying to get to rights as she was, couldn't make their identity out. She rolled up to her feet while pulling her sword around to rights.

The woman at the top of the stairs was in the mask of the dragon rider. She drew two short blades and backed toward the railings above with a strident and inhuman hiss. Almost as soon as she did this, the spinning sunset pillar of fire struck at her. The blades and the cords of her arms barely held him at bay.

"What is she?" Lusis shouted to the elves around her. "The one in the horned mask?"

"Uncertain," Ewon snatched her up off the gold and directed someone outside of her sight, "The Elfprince and King are taking fire. To the rails!"

Redd Ayesir pounded by. A goblin tugged himself off of his fallen werewolf and made a leap at the huge librarian. The man's pumping fist quite incidentally clipped the goblin in the forehead and laid him out flat on his back. Elsenord's sword un-capped the top of the goblin's head.

"What took you so long?" Lusis shouted at them. She raised her sword and pointed it at the rails. "Rout them!"

A tremendous cry met her ears. Rangers, Forces, and a section of Elves charged past. Arrows bent at them. Icar struck them aside with a flick of his sword, as if painting a canvas. Elves answered, and Bess Bowman, her feet planted against the fallen body of a werewolf, gestured at the rails. The gold rippled. Red scales reared up out of it and wrought forward. Their motion ploughed gold at the enemy. The whole of Erebor resounded with the ring of tonnes of coins cascading up the stairs, over the rails, and rolling down the halls of the Dwarven Kings.

The Istari grinned at this, braced herself, and flashed past Bess. She ran up the burning back of one of the scales and hurtled into the enemy. She wasn't alone in this. Many elves flew with her. Graceful Dorondir was among them, two long and bloody fighting knives naked in his hands. Lusis landed, plunging a knife into the chest of a gigantic orc who hadn't had the attention to spare to avoid her arrival.

The battle for the dwarven kingdom began in earnest.

An orc snarled, "You must die, little gir-"

She chopped her way through its jaw and moved on to the goblin behind it. The thing turned just in time to see her sword-chop fall. Lusis hadn't time to concentrate on the next foe. She turned her sword, braced her hand on the wet flat of her blade, and bent her knees to take the impact of a massive werewolf paw. As it began to lift, she turned her sword and straightened into an upward stroke that shot along the inside of the wolf's leg, slid off a rib, and went home deep in the animal's chest. She pulled free, turned, and passed under its shaggy belly as it toppled.

Another wave of coins flew in. Lusis found herself side-by-side with Elrond and jolted. "My Lord, how?" she blocked and slashed a reaching hand open. "Lord Elrond, how are you doing such-?"

His eyes startled her.

They were bright with life, and his sunset flame painted the ceilings and floors, it was as bright as if he carried the setting sun in his being. She watched him spin low, undercut a charging werewolf, and straighten so quickly his turn still had time to slice through the rider with the ease of light through darkness. His cloak flared open around an inferno. She sidestepped a goblin, then stepped out to bounce it off her shoulder and into Aric's path. It fell in a bleeding heap. She threaded her fingers into the pauldron of the Elvenlord, and it was like taking hold of a scudding night wind as he turned. She swung in air, dizzy with speed, and her boot heels cracked across skulls and snapped bones.

At the end of that arc, she let go and her body slung up high in air, turning. She held her sword along the back of her shoulder and repelled blades. When she landed, she hit the back of a werewolf with such force that its spine gave way. She was able to swing her sword, behead the goblin behind her, and run down the haunches of the beast. Several enemy Forces men backed away.

An orc snarled and raised his misshapen cleaver to run at her, roaring.

A hand thrown axe appeared out of its bellowing mouth and it fell down, dead.

Close to forty dwarves came charging down the hall like an avalanche. Lusis swung up her sword and narrowly blocked an orc's stab at her belly. She felt the blade go through her clothes, the flat against her side. It began to turn so that he could chop her in half.

"Oh. No-no. Not that bright maid. Out of our way, now, Missy!" shouted a burly, red-bearded dwarf. His massive sword made a low hum through air. Her splendid elven scouting dress, long ago shredded, bloodied, and cut away, now tore as the orc's sword came out and the orc fell over dead.

She checked her side for blood, found none, and turned to charge into the fray behind the relentless hammers and swords of the dwarves.

"Lusis-Istari," Elrond grappled with her shoulder and pulled her back from the fray. His flame waned as he brought her aside. "Trust in…" he sagged and seemed to lose his place.

"Lord, stay with me." She dragged him behind her and pressed him into one of the many elegant notches in this huge and bowed hallway. "What's happening to you? How did you break this curse of yours, Elvenlord?"

"He… did not," crackled a low voice. The thronging of battle drew back from the dragon-rider and her horned helm. She came to stand before the pair in the hall, and hissed low in the back of her throat. "He could not, without your assistance."

"He has," Lusis snarled and dropped to fighting stance.

"Friend-Lusis," Elrond's sonorous voice ebbed. "It is not so…. Through much practice, you see… the Elvenking," he flagged, "his grace passed through…."

The dragon-rider's head cocked, and her lips, only just visible at the jagged base of the horned mask she wore, twisted into a smile. She had fangs. She lifted a hand to touch something embedded in her flesh at the base of her throat. A small, round mirror. "He," she pondered a moment. "Did he figure out the mirrorwork?"

"What mirror work?" Lusis snapped.

Elrond sounded wan, "The mirrors burnt into our very hands, friend-Lusis. Mirrors like these bounced light across the city…. But they also stole our firelight." His powerful voice petered away.

The horned woman smirked, "Stole?" She stepped forward and orcs grouped around her in an eager circle, "These mirrors and their doleful command of light… are how we made the Lord's Seal that hid the very entry of our army to infect the heart of your city. Not a one of you fools knew." She hissed a final time and gestured toward the Counting Room. "Clever elf."

"He is," Lusis watched the dragon-rider take up a huge sword whose steel blade was far too long for her willowy frame. The shining blade curved in undulations that ran almost to the tip. Lusis felt her eyes widen. "Dragon sword." Such as these had been forged in the fires of Doom and used by nobles of Angmar.

The smile was cruel. "Well spotted, little sacrifice." She slung the blade up with blurring speed and dropped it down at Lusis' hasty block. "Pity that you could not die on that mountainside! It makes me wonder, so-called-Istari, if you can die at all. But-"

Lusis threw aside the blow, well aware it was far too powerful for the foe's small frame.

Shadows danced around the dragon-rider as her summoned dragons raced through the hall and into the fray. Lusis felt herself fighting not to howl her outrage at so lopsided a stratagem.

"-this day, I will find out." The woman's deep voice throbbed.

Maybe.

"And I will damp the troublesome lights of Rivendell."

The Lord of Rivendell was in a collapse behind her. If she left him, he would fall this day.

After all he'd already endured, that simply wasn't happening without a fight.

"I will stand for him," she told the witch, who, even as Lusis spoke, was growing larger and larger. Her horned head passed Lusis' height one moment, and was soon as tall as Redd was. The woman slung her steel sword down at Lusis again. Its ripples had now extended to lay themselves straight, which made the sword longer still. With the amount of force the witch could now muster, and at the great weight of the blade, there should have been no blocking the wallop. But Lusis stepped in and raised the elf-steel above her. Her knees went loose, ready to take impact. "I will stand!"

The strike landed.

But Lusis felt nothing but the buffet of winter wind. And she could withstand that.

Bright golden light shot through the room, and the force of it tossed the now towering witch and her heavy sword back against the opposite wall like a ball of crumpled paper. When she cried out, her voice was far too deep for the woman she had been, but yet suited her newly massive body.

Lusis leapt for her. She blocked by raising her huge vambrace under the elf steel. The recoil was terrific. It wrenched muscle along Lusis' arms, and torso, and the shock of it ran into her neck and head. Eyes watering, Lusis allowed the blade to glide down and bite into the dragon-rider's forearm. That too-deep voice bellowed with pain.

The rider brought her sword arm down, and walloped the Istari. Lusis went slack for a terrifying moment, and wondered where she was. The smell of dragons snapped her mind around. She hastily turned her blade and rolled when she hit the blessedly even dwarven floor. Her head was foggy. A sure sign she'd taken the force of the collision with that steel vambrace. Her head was spinning. Lusis breathed evenly, and tapped the smooth, cool floor with her fingers in thanks to the builders. Its sane surface was the only way she could assure her senses she was yet on level ground.

The huge dragon rider was larger still as she crabbed up along the wall and seemed able to cling there in her blood-stained leathers and horn-spiked armour. "It will soon be possible for me to swat you like a bug, fool woman. Flee. Flee from my might." Around them, a filthy ring of orcs squealed and cried out in excitement.

Lusis stepped back in front of the divot in stone that now held the curled and senseless figure of the Lord of Rivendell. Elrond was, himself, so gilded and serene in slumber and none dared harry him.

And she would die or keep it that way.

Lusis stood before him. "Coward, come at me."

The woman's pointed teeth bared. She shot from the wall. Her hand balled into a fist. It made a scraping sound through air until red fire lit up around her knuckles. Lusis knew that this blow would destroy the dwarven portico and everyone sheltered in or along this expanse of wall. At one time in her life, she might have grabbed Elrond and dove for freedom, but now she could not forget the feeling of withstanding nothing more than a winter storm. And so Lusis set herself. She made a great upward circle of her arms and the sword she held, and at the apex, she let the tip find the knuckles of that incoming strike. She growled, "And I will stand."

Golden light flared.

The dragon-rider, now as large as a worm-head dragon, froze. Her red and black mottled lips parted in surprise.

A thunderclap of noise flattened all in the halls. It threw down dragons, and left only a pillar of white light standing at the rails above the Counting Room.

In the huge dragon-rider's arm, there appeared a glassy crack.

The sound of glass whining became, for an instant, the only noise in Erebor.

Then the huge arm shattered up the middle. The impact ran up further than the shoulder of the dragon-rider. It shattered much of the horned mask so that most of it fell away. Bone had shattered and many in the ring of orcs were impaled with shards of it. Blood painted surfaces in all directions, but nothing could stain where the yellow light still slowly withdrew itself down, further and further, until it retracted into the lone starpoint in the base of the throat of the Yellow Istari.

Lusis frowned at the face of Eboa, Nema's servant. "You are nothing but wind."

The dragon-rider fell over screaming. She crashed onto the orcs to her left, killing them, and writhed in pain. But the massive injury was healing, as torturous as that seemed to be.

"I can't kill her," Lusis realized in horror. She glanced to her left, at the way out, and saw that dawn was coming. And so were Eithahawn and Osp, with a number of elves – Ewon among them – and Steed, bloodied but strong, with Jan Kasia of the Council.

Eithahawn's lips parted in horror. His graceful hand swept up, and the volley of arrows directed at him from Drivenn's forces bent themselves in air. They slammed into the injury in the dragon-rider's arm, and the healing slowed.

Osp's lips moved. Lusis couldn't hear him over the screams of the dragon-rider, Eboa.

"No, Bee!" Lusis shook her head and saw that her hair was comprised of ringlets of yellow. Something in her had changed. And, Fires, it hurt, it threatened her consciousness, just bringing her sword up to ready, as nothing had ever exhausted her before. She panted, "Go, Bee. And take my good friend Eithahawn. I very much want you to run away and hide right now!"

Osp's lips made a frustrated line. He swept aside his cloak at the hip, took up a cylinder of blue, and bit away the long line of tapering cord at the top. He used this fragment of twine to bind the cylinder to an arrow. Eithahawn took down his white bow and accepted the arrow, and, as he knocked it on the white-blond arrow string, Osp snapped his fingers so that a spark lit on the cylinder.

The arrow shot through air, fierce and true.

It plunged into the healing arm of massive-Eboa.

And that arrow and arm exploded in a rain of bone, bits, and twinkly blue sparkles.

The whole of Erebor resounded as if a bell struck, with all inside.

Only Lusis' light, Eithahawn's barrier, the pillar of white at the rails, and the huge red scales of Bess Bowman withstood the blast.

When the roaring cleared, Lusis looked up again.

Eboa's arm and shoulder were gone. She lay, pumping out blood, and shrieking.

"Friend-Lusis, fireworks," Osp shouted above the tang of burning flesh and hair. "Jan Kasia's storehouse had box on box of them."

Fireworks. Lusis thought exhaustedly.

She hadn't seen fireworks in years.

They remained amazing.

Her step faltered.

Then Eboa's flesh twisted and twitched… and began to reform itself.

Lusis shut her eyes.

The light that pressed through her lids, coming from the right, made her open her eyes again. Eboa's arm was now fresh and new mottled grey and white, to the reforming elbow. The witch lay panting, and grinning. "Istari of the North, I am unstop-"

The pillar of light became a forest wind. It sprang up from the smooth dwarven floor, and arrived like a shower of weightless pollen, to Eboa's chest. That light coalesced into the Elvenking, and his long coat and white-blond hair sailed around his lissome body.

Here was everything Nema had tried to own and contain, that none could claim. One glowing hand held Lossivor, white blade down. He gracefully raised up the hilt and brought the tip of the sword to bear on the small mirror at the base of the woman's neck.

Eboa gasped in dismay, caught in disbelief.

The tiny mirror cricked. A crack sounded through it.

The light went out of the dragon-rider.

She was still.

The Elfking stepped away from the dragon-rider's grey withering. He walked backwards with Lossivor at the ready until his extended arm met the fineries of his foster-son. Eithahawn caught the clothes of his tall adar. He hid his face against the King's shoulder in relief.

Soon, there was no longer a massive woman blocking the hall, but a small one, dead, with her body in a quickly wasting ruin. She began to crumble to dirt.

Legolas stepped over her like she had never been. He opened the arm not carrying his war-bow, and looped it around his father. Legolas landed home with a thud, his forehead flat against his father. His hand made a fist in his foster brother's coat. They stood, unmoving, until the Elfking surrendered to encirclement. The tip of his sword clacked the good marble floor of Erebor.

No one dared to speak.

Or Lusis couldn't hear them. She felt wind rushing through her hair.

Argus Samas and his men flooded into the hall and chased down fleeing orcs and turncoat Forces. Several of her troop came running, only to stop when they saw the bloody mess of the passage to the royal dwarven hall.

She wasn't sure how she'd gotten to her knees.

Her sword was lying beside her and glowing at the edges, as if lit by an inner sun.

Sure hands caught her as she tipped over.

Lusis looked up into the burnished fire of Elrond of Rivendell, as bright and steady as ever a flame of an elf had been. His caring face bent over her. He whispered words to her as he turned her to fall against him. White light seemed to swallow her whole.

The King was a bright fire in the upstairs windows of Jan Kasia's main building.

He was in the formal meeting room, where business of the Lake Township Council was generally conducted. Winter sun flooded him as he paced. His body lit up, silver. He wore no crown. It sat at the head of the table, where the great wooden chair, hand-crafted by master woodworkers among the elves, was pulled back, and… all but abandoned. He was comfortable in this company. Comfortable enough to be the elf he was. On the table, above his paperwork, sat the war circlet.

He was so striking in the sunrise that a lull had broken out in the room.

Contentment stole around the table and into all the spaces where elves stood, and a brief moment of completeness. The men there watched their King and felt secure.

The King's head tipped up at the coming of dawn. Then his silver eyes averted, "Dorondir."

"Apologies, my King. I did not expect a summons to such as this," Dorondir said. His expression, when he straightened from his bow to look at his King, was as uncluttered and bright as the sunrise itself. He stepped into the room and inclined his head to Lusis. She sat opposite Eithahawn, to either side of the King's grand and empty chair. "My thanks to the Council of Lake Township, and the assembled, for your patience."

Dorondir came to a rest beside the table, in elven style, in easy view of the highest ranking individuals in the room. Save the King, who, today, couldn't seem to be still.

"Where were you?" The King asked vaguely.

"With Merilin's section, my Lord." Dorondir was equally imprecise. The spy reached up and, as surreptitiously as he could, squeezed droplets of water out of his dark hair.

The King pretended at a lack of curiosity. Lusis managed not to laugh as she shot a glance at the Awnsons and Redd. They were no less amused.

"Be aware, you will be required at many such in the future, Dorondir. You are not as remiss in knowing, as I am in telling."

Dorondir simply inclined to this.

The King turned his back and his voice was indifferent, "Let us feign that I have patience for these matters on a day such as this."

Muffled sounds of amusement filtered through the room.

The King said, "Report."

First, Inilfain Tatharion – Steed the Ranger – stood.

His Buckmaster Chief watched him carefully. He was lauded as a hero from the work he'd done in the besieged Township, and because he'd slain so many orcs and goblins on the way to open the Vaults. He'd been in the vanguard of Samas' forces in the early going, and saved many fleeing people. But Lusis knew he was deeply ashamed that the actions of some in his august family had caused death and destruction in this place. He burned with anger at their betrayal and she, perhaps better than anyone, understood how that felt.

He said, "My King, there simply is no sign of Ellethiel Tatharion. With the great skill of an experienced Ranger, and a part-elf, she has melted into the wild. She was last rumoured in the foothills of the Grey Mountains, but there are many rumours. This one states she travels with a large band of…." his voice tightened and the Elfking's head turned a fraction. "Of Tatharion traitors."

The room was silent. Noise from the building below filtered in – business as unusual down there, even with rebuilding and the Council and Elfking's expansion plans underway.

The pacing spectacle of glimmering threads and dark, floating hair stilled. "She has no people. She is no longer welcomed by her kin. The Keep and its Rangers, even now, pass to her brother, Elivor, who won it from her Men by force of battle. And we may call her Ellethiel alone, Inilfain, for she has given up the good name," said the Elflord of Rivendell. Like Thranduil. He returned to stalking the wood panel wall, his gold and russet clothes aglow with bright threads and smoky quartz. Near the center of the table, the august elf paused for a measuring look and his hands clasped behind him as he said, "She is my kin as well."

Chairs in the room creaked as the human contingent, mostly unaware of this fact, turned to look between the pair, needlessly confused on how that worked. Elves could breed with humans, their fellow Children of Eru. They just seldom did.

Steed inclined himself to the Lord. He couldn't manage anything further on the matter.

Lusis rolled her tight shoulders. It did nothing to discharge the nervous tension. She exhaled, "There is less to go on with Kirnor Buckmaster. It is almost midwinter and he has been neither seen nor reported."

The King commented. "We lack the intelligence needed to determine whether his involvement with the foul dragon-rider was a matter of agreements advocated by Kirstman Buckmaster… or not. But it is impossible to eschew the suspicion. Buckmaster Keep is proving… problematic to the Mirkwood."

Kasia frowned, "Speaking of which, your human holdings can't be considered to fall under the term the Mirkwood. For proper representation a term of consolidation should-"

And the Elfking turned his august head. "Forgive me. I was under the impression you did not want the wood to grow thick and dark in the streets and open places to the shores of Long Lake."

Jan Kasia's brows rose, "No, of course… are… are you saying you're capable of doing-?"

Redd glanced suddenly aside at Lusis, his cheeks gone pale. "Lusis, the Northern Convergence."

She glanced aside at him. "Ragnar Ayesir, Raud Fell, and my father… all members of the Northern Convergence." Lusis paled and pressed her hands to her face. "Gods."

At the window, the Elfking took a step in her direction.

Dorondir's voice was soft, "My King, the Northern Convergence is long established. Their movements are largely transparent in the North, but also not under surveillance. The group would be exceedingly difficult to reconnoiter." He turned to look at Lusis again.

"Samas?"

Samas shook his head. "Lusis is the only one who could-"

"Out of the question." Remee seconded and stood up from where he sat along the walls. Elsenord bared his teeth and tugged his brother back to his seat. Then, nervously, both young men looked to see what Lusis Buckmaster's reaction would be.

Her lips pressed together into a line. "Let the King plan. Rule nothing out until he is done," she glanced at her brothers and frowned, "And until I am decided."

On the benches along the walls, Remee made a discontented grumble and Elsenord looked up at the ceiling in silent thanks. She hadn't outright said she'd go after the Northern Convergence.

Lusis watched him do this. She saw the spirit of her father's steadfastness in him.

Jan Kasia did something unusual of humans in such a meeting. He got up from his chair, stretched himself, and started moving around the crowded room. He went to the sideboard and poured a cup of ice-water before he exhaled. "Whatever you're thinking of doing regarding this… this Northern Convergence thing, all this talk reminds me we're sorely lacking a Master of Forces yet again." He drained his cup and set it face-down on the table. "I'm not sure if that's a blessing or a curse."

Cardoc Wence, who had interviewed and selected Gurn Drivenn, said, "It should not, again, be my decision, my King." He nodded at the table and joined his hands before him.

The Elfking noted, "You will offer the post to Elsenord Buckmaster."

Elsenord and Lusis glanced at one another in surprise. Elsenord put up a fingertip, "What?"

Jan Kasia noted, "You did acquit yourself well, Buckmaster, when you marshalled the Forces who held the way to the Vaults. I cannot offer this post to Lady Helin-"

The tall, glorious elf woman who stood like a statue beside the door noted, "I am not a Lady."

Kasia did a double-take at that but quickly shook the confusion away. "And since I cannot thank… her with Mastery, I would certainly reward either yourself or Ranger Samas."

Samas shook his head, "You should accept this accolade, Elsenord. Consider the position well, friend. I am busy enough running the Shadow Men."

This was what the Forces called their new-fledged organization of spies, learning at the knee of the tall, dark elf who, currently, had made himself unnoticed while standing just off-center of the room.

"I… I will consider it," he decided, rose and then bowed to Thranduil. "Thank you, my King, and to the Master of Boats. I am humbled by this offer. I was simply doing what messenger men do. I was delivering citizens, in safety, to the Vaults."

Lusis smiled at this, and the Rangers around her made muffled sounds that build up to hands pounding on the tables in salute to Elsenord. A great cheer went up and Elsenord grinned. Remee got to his feet and nudged his brother's shoulder a few times before they both retired to their chairs.

"That's to us all," Elsenord said and then, as the Rangers quieted, "and to Lusis Buckmaster." This made the humans erupt into noise again. The Elfking faced dawn, and the rest of the elves, even Dorondir, endured. Only Elrond seemed truly charmed.

The King moved through rays of sunlight that painted him rose, lilac, and pale gold, and the room began to quiet at the sight of him. His gaze passed over the table, dismissively. "Drivenn?"

From his seat, Argus Samas pulled a face, "Elfking, the last time any of our Men engaged the soldiers of Drivenn, they were going to the South." He tapped paperwork in an envelope, "I have maps of sightings. What I don't have is any idea what might be gained for them riding in that direction, unless they have a particular desire to live in swamps and ruins and roaring volcanoes."

"What is his accent, young one," asked the King.

Samas' brows drew down, "I couldn't place it."

"Gondorion," Elrond's long coat and embroidered robe of leaves swirled around him as he came to a stop again. His smoke-coloured eyes betrayed some grudging admiration. "Ah, Thranduil, you have a point. One can speak Sindarin like an edhel of Rivendell rather than of the Greenwood."

"When one wishes to be invisible, one goes where one cannot be seen or heard." Dorondir noted with a small nod. "They will vanish into the fabric of Gondor."

The King noted. "As if I were to vanish amid a collection of Sinda." He tugged his pale hair and his eyes widened a moment, "So many long straight backs and white-blond heads." His brows rose, "One can but imagine Avonne."

Jan Kasia wasn't the only Councilor to laugh at the Elvenking's sudden aside.

"Adar, attend to the time."

The Elfking sucked a breath of air and exhaled a flood of quiet Sindarin. Then his head cocked and the King glanced at his foster as he did so. "Odd. I could have sworn I had two… of you."

"Apologies, adar." Eithahawn dissembled, with downcast red-gold eyelashes and a bow of his golden head.

"Long practice has trained you to… apologize for him. To note that it has become reflex, though. I believe Legolas would be pleased." He looked at the windows and mastered his flaring temper. "Where he here?"

Eithahawn glanced up and suppressed a smile.

The Elfking shot him a longsuffering look. He also asked Dorondir, "And the Aglareb?"

"An agent last saw Gurn Drivenn's traitors close to The Mark. He reports that they have broken their number and filtered into the lands, many of them. Some have embedded themselves in the Riddermark. Doubtless some are headed into Rhun. Their main body filters through trade routes, passes through open markets, and travels among the caravans to Gondor, my King. It is the most direct path, and one in which it is easiest to lose a man on horseback."

"Who was last to see his trail or men?"

"My King, it was Annundir." Dorondir said quietly.

Now the Elfking's head rose, "Your brother could track the passage of a moth over stone. If Drivenn stops moving, Annundir will find him."

Dorondir's head inclined gracefully, and a little further than was necessary for assent. "I shall tell him that you think so."

"He is not to engage. In fact… as there are Men of the Forces trained for surveillance, when Annundir does locate Drivenn, have him hold and observe until select among the Shadow Men can relieve him. An elf is out of place," he glanced at Samas, "but Men won't be."

"You have my word on that," said Samas.

"It has grown dangerous for elves to be abroad on the land, my Lord," Steed said with concern. "We should send the replacements quickly."

The Elfking sighed. "The evidence would argue it becomes difficult for elves to be abroad in the land unprotected. Elves like Annundir can hardly be described in such a fashion."

"Neither can you," said Steed, "Elvenking."

"The odds are low that there is an itinerant sorcerer roving the land with ampoules," he removed a dark red phial from his pocket, went to the table, and set it down on a tray, "filled with-"

"Dragon's blood." Lusis shot to her feet without thinking. She found herself pointing at it. "What are you doing with it?" She hurried around the table and snatched the flat-bottomed phial. It was hot enough, to the touch, to scorch her and smelled of that vague scent that made her hackles rise. Lusis held it out from herself by the silvery chain that connected the flask and the wax-sealed stopper. "Ugh. Doom's pits how do we get rid of this?"

The Elfking was fascinated by her behaviour. His tall body tipped a little right as if looking at her from that angle would somehow explain her reaction. "Lusis-dess, it needs proper study."

"It needs to be dumped into the deepest part of Long Lake with a rock tied on for good measure." She looked at the hated blood. "It is a curse waiting to happen!"

Quietly, he crossed to Lusis, and reached his long hand to the vial. His skin glowed with radiance when he closed his hand around the glass. He tucked it back into an inner pocket and told her, "It is less than an ounce of blood, and no more than that, Lusis. It cannot do me harm."

She couldn't quite prevent glaring at that. "You assume too much risk. There is no good to be had out of pondering dragon's blood."

A breath of winter trees passed around her when the King turned and resumed his place beside the window, "That is undecided yet, Lusis-dess."

She stared at his long, straight back, which was, in her opinion, unique, prized, and nothing at all like any other Sinda's. Lusis reminded herself that he was not frustrating her efforts to protect him on purpose, and that, while heart and mind were full of fire, the temperatures of the flames opposed one another. "I suspect you mean to hand it over to Osp so that he might pursue its components and various properties."

"That may be problematic after today." Said the Elfking, "Perhaps you will have your way."

"I doubt it. I wanted Nema Aragennya jailed, but she sits in all-too-comfortable house arrest at Buckmaster Station. Do you realize she is only leagues from this room?" Lusis pointed at the floor, "She is too close, and, I warn you, Nema is a dangerous woman."

The King stiffened, and his voice sounded dark and full of hate as he replied. "I know she is." He turned from her and looked out at the sunrise. He didn't speak about what had happened to him when he had been a thrall of Nema Aragennya. Lusis knew that he, unlike stricken Elrond, had still been aware while in captivity. She hated that worst of all.

"I pitied her," Lusis prowled along the table toward where he stood by the windows, "What a fool I was. My King, the dwarves offered to cage her in Erebor," in the very cage he'd been kept in, as a matter of fact. Lusis' teeth bared, "I think that would be very fitting."

He glanced down toward her, but without meeting her eyes, "Are you averse to information?"

"I'm averse to that woman. To anyone who would try to turn noble elves into living dolls."

For a moment, her King seemed frozen. Then his hand rose and he touched his forehead. "Lusis… thand. I cannot find fault with your animosity. Do you find fault with my love, Lusis-dess? I do not believe this is the end of our hardship. Our people suffer it, and it is for them that I… remain." He opened his graceful arms a fraction. "If Nema yet knows secrets among our foes, something valuable, for she is ever slippery, and endlessly connected, then we must keep her safe, comfortable… alive."

She hated it. Viscerally. Lusis only just stopped herself from telling him she should have killed the woman in the Counting Room. Instead, she focused on what she really feared. "And… do you mean to question her yourself? You know that you can get from her… anything you could dream to ask for." Lusis felt her displeasure surge. "Do you mean to see her face? Hear her voice? For your people?"

He looked away at the sun. "Ai, of all days… why business? Why today?" His head came up, as if astonished he'd said such a thing aloud. "If an attempt is made on her life, I will consider it a sign that our enemy is not vanquished."

Lusis' lips curled, "I'd consider it a sign that a member of the house staff has good taste. Aside from this, I urge you to remember that your wellbeing is the affair of a nation of elves, and a city of Men. Answer me-"

A pair of elves crossed the room and laid documents on the table. They minced away quietly to where Ewon stepped aside and let them out the door again. In her urgency, Lusis had nearly forgotten anyone else was there.

She breathed deeply before she continued, "Will you deal with that poison-painted maw of hers again?" If he had to, she had already decided she would be there. Her hand was already on her sword hilt as she thought about it.

The Elfking tipped his head up. He… shook out his silver cascade of hair, grown long from the tour. Lusis had never seen him do such a thing. She'd not noted the twitch of motion of any elf. Slowly, he returned to looking out the window. "With hope… I will never need to lay eyes on her again, nor shall she ever behold me or my sons, or my own in her remaining life. And if she should, by chance or accident of fate… it will be her last hour in this world." The room fell silent until the Elfking added. "However, getting her to talk has been… difficult of late, Yellow Istari. You did shatter her jaw." The King's blameless silver eyes peeked in her direction. His soft smile had returned.

Lusis pinched the bridge of her nose, and then swept back to her seat, "Blame me if you like. But it was like a teacup. I could have broken it with a hard word, I swear."

Half the table chuckled.

The King looked strangely pleased.

The door knocked, or rather, someone came to knock the doorframe. Ewon had allowed this to happen, so there was nothing to fear in it. Helin lingered, noiselessly out of sight, just inside. But there was no need for alarm – the elf could see this on the faces of the humans and elves in the room, which either smiled, or warmed.

Bess Bowman, her good black axe strapped to her back, stood in the doorway. She wore new leathers in brown and blue, a fur cloak of beaver pelts, elven boots to match, and a bright smile. "Do you know the hour, my King?"

Now the Elvenking exhaled the tension that was tightening his chest and shoulders. He started toward the door – only started – and that was enough for Amathon to come away from the wall and take up the War Circlet of the Elvenking. He held it with loving care as he approached the King. But the King merely set his fingertips against the woven Mithril, to push it gently away. "Baw. Not the crown of war, my young Elite. Not today."

Bess stepped aside from the double doors and gestured toward the hall. "Greatest Elvenking, you told the staff to summon you at dawn, and here I am."

The King paused to look at her, "You are a princess."

"I am a friend of the King," she bowed her head to him. "And I would not miss the day for the price of a Kingdom." Bess broke out in unabashed smiles and glanced to one side of him, "Lady Lusis, are you ready?"

She wasn't sure, actually. "I don't know what goes into this sort of a thing." She glanced from Lord Elrond to the King and back, and followed them. She wasn't the only one, seeing as the Council and Rangers were all invited to the occasion.

Eithahawn eased in beside her and tipped his red-golden head. "Are you anxious, Lusis-Istari?"

Truthfully she was, and so she gave a single incline of her head. She was learning to do that where, once, she might have nodded.

"I don't believe there is record… of an Agreement Celebration attended by humans in the Mirkwood." He said lightly. "Eventful." But he said it as if there were misgivings about this among the elves, and Lusis could understand why from the next question to arise from this.

Cardoc Wence, Master of Lumber, was never one to steer clear of a festival of any kind. He glanced over at her and then up at Eithahawn. "If I may ask a question, Prince Eithahawn-"

"Lord." Eithahawn's lashes lowered and his head bent in humility.

The Elfking, just steps ahead said, "Prince is what I would expect among humans, ion. You will exhaust yourself trying to apply elven corrections to their perceptions of royalty and succession."

Wence scrutinized Eithahawn. "I'm sorry, Lord. I thought you were his son."

"Forgive me for confusing you. I am his son. That is not the same as being a Prince," Eithahawn made that clear. "What is your question, Master of Lumber?"

"Are they to be married then?"

The Kingdom's-seneschal was one of the few who had been selected to speak to the humans about the matter. "The King is already married."

Jan Kasia tapped Wence's elbow and said, "Ask quietly. Be careful, Car. But ask – I've always wanted to know."

"Where is the Queen?"

Eithahawn's face averted, but not significantly. He'd dealt with human brusqueness almost daily for half a year now, in the queue of Petitioners in the Mirkwood. Experience had given him insight about when Men meant to wound, and when they did not. He had learned to watch their faces rather than to try to rifle through their unspoken thoughts. In this matter, he felt their curiosity was natural. "Queen Ithileth is in the West… without her beloved King and without her son."

"And you're not her son?"

"Indeed, I am not," he confessed. "But being in the West does not break the bond between husband and wife. It places it in a permanent state of abeyance. Adar cannot be married to Lusis-dess."

Lusis had heard this explanation only once before. This morning, fresh out of her bath, she'd had an elf standing in her doorway with her face downcast. A tall Sinda wearing a dress of pale green and two layers of winter cloaks. Mithiel, who was the royal Protocol Authority.

She nodded her head at the ground, unable to forestall the action as she could never quite submerge what was human in her. Ahead, already on the staircase, went the King. She idly wondered at his feelings. Not knowing their extent made her decide to be personally cautious. One could love a fire's heat without going up in flames. The key was loving it at a safe distance. The cooler part of her head had already mastered that art when it came to him. It was clear something had broken inside of the great Sinda elf. Perhaps it was the shocks of so many Ages. Whenever he spoke about love, it was as a utility. The word had no other sense than an apparatus. He treated it like a lever. It lifted the Kingdom so that he could inventory and tidy everything underneath, and assured he could chart his course through it. It raised the banner for his subjects. He leaned on it whenever he needed loyalty to be pledged, and things to be done according to plan. 'Do you love me and my Kingdom on the lake, Jan Kasia?'

She caught sight of Dorondir somewhere off to her left. He felt her glance, or perhaps spied it, peripherally. When he returned it, he was warm, reassuring. Lusis felt she might have closed the distance between them in a matter of minutes. But she inclined her head to him and went down the first few steps to find the King waiting for her on the landing. He offered his pale hand to help her down. Whatever else their Contract did, it was written so that casual contact was no longer taboo. She put her hand in his, gratefully. These Scout dresses were long and layered – far more ornate than a real woman Scout would ever wear. In narrow staircases, they were tricky.

"No more of these," she told him, and pointed downward.

The King's brows quirked. "Stairs?"

Lusis smothered a laugh. As if he didn't know what was making her peevish.

In the downstairs hall, Bess stepped aside and let the King into the main building. Men began to applaud as soon as he appeared with Lusis beside him. She released his hand and let him take the final few steps forward, so that the winter sun could fall upon him from the upper floors. He looked up at the humans that ringed the balconies and a hush fell around him. The King spoke formal words in Sindarin, and then gave loose translation, "I should like to see you all, as Lake Township joins its friends in the Greenwood to celebrate Agreement. Please be with us today."

Applause rolled through the floors.

Cold-eyed, Lusis searched the crowd for weapons. It had become her ingrained hobby since the Township had been betrayed, and she'd caught more than one sleeper out to injure or kill officials. Legolas had flawlessly shot down a man who had decided to put a blade into the King's back, or, more accurately, to try. Glorfindel had run-through a former Forces man who had snuck into Jan Kasia's offices to attack the Kingdom's-seneschal, for it was known that Lord Eithahawn did business from the main building. But Dorondir and the Aglareb had begun weeding through the Forces in earnest and there had been no further actions.

All she saw now was joy, gladness, and a marked politesse about this Very Elven Thing they didn't understand, to which they'd been invited. Kasia had had meetings with them, she'd heard, where he'd tried to explain. It was a marriage that wasn't a marriage at all. An agreement that wasn't anything near as ordinary as an agreement.

Lusis didn't know what it was, just that she wanted it. And she wanted it to be over. She wanted to vanish into the background again, so that she could protect him. Instead, as he turned, his hand unthinkingly reached for hers. His tapering fingers searching. She wrapped her fingers around his as if guiding him through the dark.

The Elfking glanced at her. "We must part now."

"I suppose they want to sand away my scars and varnish my hair, our elven friends." She said, but even as she turned to see him, the general pooling of elves in the main building had pushed them apart. His silver eyes glinted as he glanced over her.

Likewise, many of the women elves were pulling her away from him.

"It's all right," Nimpeth glided in beside her and favoured her with a rare, broad smile. "This is all a part of Agreement ceremonies. Melethron o melethril – they must be parted. Or friend from friend, as the contract may be, such as with Glorfindel and his Lord, Elrond."

They were contracted friends? Lusis' brows rose.

Bess Bowman, who was just ahead of Lusis, began to beam, "To be part of a hidden ceremony such as this – how thrilling!"

"What is the Sindarin for 'nerve-racking'?" Lusis muttered, and Nimpeth blurted an unthinking laugh, before she could stay herself.

So Lusis didn't resist, but she also didn't move. Not until she caught sight of Ewon and two senior Elites with the King. They had long since earned her trust. Celondir, now fully recovered, broke from the general knot of edhel to bow after Lusis and Nimpeth. He had already told Lusis, many times, that his life was in her debt. Lusis lowered her lids and inclined her head in respect – she'd just recently learned the meaning of this one, from an amazed Eithahawn, in fact, who hadn't realized such a gesture meant nothing but 'Yes' or 'Hi' to humans.

Celondir smiled at her. He was handsome and dimpled, and she felt happy every time she saw him hale.

They'd lost elves in this last battle. Losses would never cease to haunt them.

Aside from which, Lusis had the sneaking suspicion that young Telfeth was wistfully sweet on this particular elf, in spite of the fact he was far older than she was. That made the tall and private red-head even more interesting. She saw that Celondir stopped to flank Eithahawn.

A good friend.

The Kingdom's-seneschal swept his hand out from his heart at her.

Lusis felt a tugging inside, just at the welcome warmth of his action. They were not family. But she was going to be something more than a friend to him soon. She winked at him, paused long enough to watch the utter lack of comprehension cross his face, and turned from him, nearly giggling.

"Lady Lusis," Bess nudged her. "We should go." The girl's brown eyes darted from Lusis to Eithahawn and back and she smiled. "He is lovely, that elf. He seems kind."

The cobbles outside of Kasia's were dry in the winter sun. In fact, quite a change had passed over the land here. The flurries did come in fits and starts, but thawing was frequent. On the side of the white stone courtyard, snowdrops pushed through melting snow. Birds flittered by, singing in the lull of sunrise, and Lusis could look out to the field – the Flowers of the Forest – to see the tents of Bregoln now pulled along the tree-line. Horses were being walked between the forgiving stands of trees there. Fires burned. Their day was beginning, too. And the dragon she'd killed had been cut into sections and cleared away, so that the King could walk upon the scorched earth there, and help it to heal.

Lusis smiled at the clearing snow, and hopeful green grass pushing through. "I love this place."

The elves hurried in through the door before her. She'd been asked to wait with Bess. Inside, Lusis saw tall, tan, black-haired Bregoln standing in quiet observation of her. He wore fresh leather armour in brown and green, and seemed sore at her presence. Lusis touched the ring on a chain at her throat and exhaled. When Nimpeth gestured her through, she felt Breg step in beside her, and Bess thoughtfully step away.

"This is enough for you?" he asked her. "This… what is this?"

"Agreement," she saw Dorondir heading upstairs after the King's steady glow.

"Fires, Lusis, what would your father think?"

She nodded, because she thought of that often. Would he be happy for her – that she'd found someone she actually cared for? That she'd healed enough to trust him? That she was a friend among the elves, as was the dream of many a Ranger. Would he be disappointed with her decision, and feel she was being slighted? And since she had a long history of being honest with Breg, Lusis told him the answer she'd come up with. "I don't know. But I do know he'd want me to live my life." She looked across at his handsome face. "He'd want you to try to live yours too. Yours. Not mine."

His brows went up. "Okay, that is… accurate. You are the apple of his eye. Were."

"Yes," Lusis admitted. She too still spoke of her father as if he were still alive. Maybe he might have been. Without Kirnor. Without Kirstman. Without the shadow in the North. She swallowed this bitterness in a glass of wine she took from a passing tray, drained, and handed, empty to Breg.

He grinned at her. "I'm your dish-maid now?"

"You must be," she gestured at his hand. "You're holding a dirty glass. What do you intend to do about that, Breg?"

"I should set it on your head and see if I can shoot it off," he tapped his sturdy Northern bow.

Lusis chuckled at this.

"Ah, Lusis," Bregoln's voice was softer. "This is not good enough for you… not even though he is a King among elves. What a broken relationship he has built for you, and handed you now. Not his wife. What are you?"

"Something new," she shrugged in reply. "Something new to Middle Earth. I… I think I've always been so. He's changed nothing about that. And, besides," she pondered this a moment before she put it in words, "If this – all this you see – is broken, I will make no effort to correct it. I chose it. This is my place and my life. It's what I want for myself. If it's broken then the cracks of it fit my shape perfectly. It's broken-in."

"Maybe… it won't always be so," Breg looked at the floor.

Lusis exhaled noiselessly. "I love too much about this world to ever leave it. I belong among the Rangers, yes, but they have ever been tied to the elves. The Men of the Peaks long ago left that path, but…" she glanced over him, "in that, I'm glad you and yours have chosen to stay on here. The Lord, Elrond, is part of the same bloodline as the house of Fell, did you know that?"

He scoffed, "I'm not related to some elf." He glanced aside at Nimpeth's long black mane of hair, now sculpted into perfect ripples. Her eyes were locked on him. She raised her chin and swept away into the back of the building without looking at him. He was beneath her notice.

Lusis veered toward the staircase, away from him. "Breg, your own name is bastardized elvish."

"I was named after a mountain." He pointed out.

"The mountain was named by the elves," she said between her teeth. Lusis made it halfway up the stairs in a few hops and pointed at him, "Stop trying my patience with your ignorance, and we might stand a chance of getting along. Another thing. Until we find out what's happened among the Northern Convergence, I advise you to make your peace with the people of Lake Township and Mirkwood. Because you're not going anywhere." He'd been told that the 'Elder Fells' had been mentioned by name by certain of the enemies who'd attacked this place. He simply didn't know which among them would dare betray the North.

From the sun-striped room below, which snapped with firelight, Bregoln Fell frowned up at her. "What's to hold me here, Lus?"

Her lip curled, "Hopefully, common sense. But I'm not entirely sold on the idea you have any of that at the moment."

The edge of his mouth quirked into a smile he'd rather not have felt. She was sure he'd rather have felt sullen today. But they'd always shared the effect of raising one another's spirits. Her lips compressed into a triumphant smirk as she jogged upstairs.

Into a wall of elven men.

"No, no, no, Lady." An elf with sandy brown braids held his hands before her in air, and then broke into Silvan to the edhel men around him.

"What's the problem?" Bess called from below.

"No problem," Lusis said lightly and glanced through the numbers of debating Silvan men, none of whom spoke Westron now, until she found Dorondir coming toward her. He made his way through them, and his expression was clearly amused.

"You realize," he was unable to suppress his delight, "you're not supposed to be together before the procession and signing? It is so that one may have time to think on the decision." He actually had to look away, he was so pleased. "You are full of surprises, Yellow Istari."

"Lady, you cannot come through. I deeply regret the saying of this," the sandy-haired Silvan bowed. "The ladies are preparing a room for your dressing in the downstairs."

"Of course she can," Dorondir extended a hand to her, and she took it and passed through the screen of edhel men. He looked down into her eyes and said, "The Lady is an arbiter of change. And she is never better than when acting according to her true nature, I find."

She took her hands out of his, and glanced down the hall. "Can I get to my room, Dorondir?"

"I will take you there." He assured her. The end of the hall was a bustling of male elves, all of whom bundled around the doorway to the King's rooms and carried fineries with them. They were quite distracted, and very used to her helpful presence upstairs, so it didn't register with them. She'd made it to her open door before Elrond stepped out of the King's room. His hair was dressed with loops in the forelocks that ran in front of his elven ears. In the loops dangled emeralds to match his shining white diadem, covered in green buds.

He saw her and brightened in that fashion that seemed unique of Elrond. "Lusis Buckmaster… you have the most astonishing skill for being precisely where you shouldn't be."

She grinned at him before she bowed. "I try to make it work, my Lord."

The warrior, Glorfindel, leaned through the King's doorway and his crystalline blue eyes softened when he took her in. Then he turned to his Lord, "The King has need of you, my Lord."

Elrond pressed a hand to his temples and huffed with laughter. He followed Glorfindel into the room, and Lusis could hear him say. "I doubt she has a preference, Elvenking."

They had looked at her as if she was one of them. Family. It was humbling. Lusis swerved and went into her rooms. She glanced over her shoulder and Dorondir read this as a command to follow. He stepped in and made his uncertain course to her, to where she was fussing with the package on her bed. It had been delivered upstairs by Remee, which was... oddly befitting of a Messenger man.

"What is it?" Dorondir asked idly.

"A gift for the King." Lusis lifted the silver and pearl necklace from the package. Where it had been broken, she had paid for a single stone to join the ends together – a pale and raw piece of green jasper worked into the shape of a green leaf. It hadn't been inexpensive, but then, it had been important to her. She'd tried, in her way, to put some of her feeling into it. Some of her power, she hoped. It had been in her pocket for days before she'd had Jan Kasia's smiths work it into the necklace. But it didn't glow with suffused light, as she'd imagined it would. With her means, it was the best she could do.

Dorondir's head tipped. "You love him."

She glanced aside at him, apologetically.

The spy reached out and smoothed her golden hair back from her face. He tucked it behind one of her ears. Lusis caught and squeezed his hand. "He doesn't feel the same."

He stroked her hair again and Dorondir's voice dropped. "He does not know how he feels, Lusis. For him, love is a lonely crusade. Love is grief. And he can scarcely remember a time when thoughts of it gave him anything but pain." His fingertips stroked her cheek. "You… are two amongst the most precious lights in the world… to my reckoning. Do you know that?"

She set a hand over his steady flame and felt the sudden rally of his fire lean into her.

"If you can teach him a love free of anguish, you will have lifted the hearts of all his people, and me among them, my star."

Her fingers passed through the warmth of his light and pulled the flames higher. He was the only cloud in the sky of her uneasy elation. The light of the King also cast this green-eyed elf's beautiful silhouette over the landscape of Lusis' future. Lusis looked up into his pale gaze. "May you never find trouble, my shadow. Please be safe and well."

"I will. And waiting," he told her softly. "As yet… I do not know what is meant to be. This contract you will sign, I do not know what it contains. I do not know if you do."

It had been written in Sindarin, which she'd not had time to have translated to her. But one thing was for sure, "It says what I want it to say, Dorondir. He will be sure of that." The elves were fair, and the King was no fool. The contract would allow much, but only at her will.

He nipped his bottom lip and managed the words, "But there is no contract for a soul. You have not pledged your heart away," his head tipped, and his brows pulled over his lowered lids. "Have you, Lusis?" His eyes shut.

She didn't know how to answer. Out of caring, she cupped his cheek. His skin was soft and smooth under her palm and he was full of light. "Dorondir, you precious… you dark jewel. Please don't suffer." It was a hard thing for her to know how he felt.

He pulled himself under wraps.

Lusis pushed back a lock of his dark brown hair. "Fires. I need to be ready before midday, and you don't know the grisly enthusiasm of these elf dressers. They will scrub me until I change colour."

He blinked and then chuckled. His gaze met hers, "You sound like him."

She released him again, glad to see him smile. "Can you find my ladies?"

"Are you certain you want me to?" Dorondir stepped away and became, again, the honed and well-trained man that, at center, he factually was.

Lusis nodded ruefully. "They mean well."

His brows went up. "I will bring them to this room, whether or not you are in it, or have fled this madness." His gesture, on that last word, also included himself, something she appreciated. He brought doubt and disorder into her heart. And he regretted it.

When he'd gone, Lusis wiped at her eyelashes and gathered herself. Only one light could warm her, now that she'd turned her shadow away. She went out of her room and, a few steps on, she ducked into the King's. She needed to be by him.

It was flooded with winter sunlight. The lithe King stood on a small dais, his figure glowing. His back was to her, and his silver-blond hair was longer than she remembered. It fell in a cascade down from his broad shoulders to his narrow waist. His legs were so long in the pale fitted trousers he wore. The soft and silken material that was so like leather, which elves could produce. She was transfixed. He raised his excellently formed arms out beside him. His dressers slipped fitted silk over his hands. They buttoned him in the front, so preoccupied that none of them had yet noticed that she was in the room.

Elrond, who was reading resonant elvish aloud from a book, paced into view. He stopped, midsentence and clapped a hand over his heart, "Lusis-Istari, now this is too far. Even for you." But she could see that he was wickedly amused by this.

The King's long hair swirled weightlessly as he turned and saw her. His eyelids fluttered. "Lusis?" He was surprised and, for some reason, seemed a little dismayed.

She inhaled the perfumed air of the room – so many elves, and above them, the smell of the forest. His pine needled splendor was now invaded with the scent of sweet grass. She wondered if it had to do with the repeated thaws. He turned all the way about and stepped off the dais. "Lusis-dess, what is it?"

When he crossed the room, elves found things to concern themselves with, and, from the tone alone, she could tell that the Elvenking thought she might not go through with this. She looked up at him, took the silver and pearl chain out of her pocket, and lifted it in air. He saw it and bent so that she could set it on his shoulders. He lifted it up with the pale jasper leaf in his palm. "This… is new. Tell me… what does it mean?"

"A green leaf." She told him. She watched the excess of caution in his lovely face. "I thought it might keep something of Legolas close to your heart when he's away." And she laid a hand on his silken chest. It gave her pause that no one stopped her. "You need your family. You need them to ground you, Elvenking. And I wanted to give you a gift today. This is the finest thing… I have. That's all, my King."

He had been holding his breath, but now exhaled. "Thranduil," he prompted, gently. But she didn't say his name.

Lusis patted his chest, incredulous that it was permitted. And fortunate. "Stars…. Back on the dais, light. I'll begin and you can pick up where I left off." She caught his hand and led him to the center of the room, and the circle of greatly relieved elves.

"Begin?" He released her as he stepped up to tower over the room. His hands smoothed the chain of silver and pearls against him, and his fingertips rested upon the jasper leaf.

"In the great heights of Buckmaster Spur, the Elvenking of Mirkwood appears in secret to retrieve the missing Yellow Istari. The Keep is attacked by wargs… and dragons."

"I should have taken a spy," the King looked down into the great dark eyes staring up at him. His shoulder rose slightly and his head tipped toward it. "Overconfidence."

Lusis agreed, "Someone knew exactly who you were."

"Perhaps they knew my face," his brows rose in speculation.

"It is quite a face," she admitted contentedly.

He brightened, his eyes downcast, "My thanks."

Lusis set in pacing. "Their Greatest King is a famed warrior of Eru, and so he laid low the dragon at Buckmaster Keep and… and vanished into the wild." She looked up at him. "Your turn."

"I did not vanish. I engaged a very large female dragon." The elves around him paused to glance at one another, as the King continued, "She launched straight up into the sky and quickly out over a deep mountain pass. At such times, the best an elf can do is avoid being thrown off. When we landed, such a fight struck up on the confines of the mountaintop that snow coursed down from the summit. There, a dragon knows she has the advantage. I used a slide of snow to trap her. I occupied her and it clipped her wing. When she struck the ledge, I slew her. But… I was badly affected by then. Her blood had been upon me for four hours of battle. Those are difficult conditions to fight in, Lusis-dess. Indeed, they say 'Should the dragon have but a single advantage, one fights only to retreat'."

"Well," she began to circle his long figure. "You showed them."

"And they showed me," he opened his long arms for the first, nearly transparent, layer of long coat. It was a film of thready gold over the white shirt he wore. It looked like supple, hand-pressed paper. She caught a fine edge of the material and felt it between thumb and fingers. "I… was afflicted. My mind was in the chains of dragon's blood. I did not know if I saw the Angmar witch, or dreamed her into being. I had thought… she was you. But her touch upon my reaching hand felt like a knife. I expended the last of my energy dispatching this, and many, shades."

"It couldn't have gotten better after you crawled into the dragon's blood to survive." She noted.

"Even concluding I should do so was arduous. Determining that the pool of blood was real… was more than I could manage at that time." His hands closed over his sternum at the memory. Now his voice dropped, "I had hoped you would come for me."

"Always," she told him stalwartly. "I will always. Do not doubt me."

His hands slipped away from the protective position to dangle beside him. "I… believe."

"So we came out of the hills to Tatharion… and you were suspicious," she paced around his narrow side and looked up at his silver profile.

"Ellethiel Tatharion wanted us to be anywhere but in her house at the same time she wanted us not to venture outside." The King turned on the dais, with his fair fanning hair a white light around him. "How could one not be suspicious?"

Lusis knew he'd read the white mare's journey quickly and accurately, before Ellethiel could have worked her way to Elrond and the orcs who had been sent to collect him. She exhaled. "You found the Lord, and the Lord's condition was highly similar to yours as it turned out." She circled to the front of him, reached out, and caught up his hand. She turned it over and passed her fingertips across his palm.

His skin was silky. She checked again, but there was no sign of the circle of elevated skin, that same circle that matched the mirror the enemy orc had carried, and the one he'd broken in the chest of the dragon-rider witch who'd fought Lusis. After a final time she muttered, "Gone."

When she went to release him and back away, his hand followed her. Lusis glanced up at him. His silver disk eyes were on their hands alone. She shut her fingers around the warmth of his skin again and watched his silvery face. His eyelids lowered. Something in him seemed to loosen. She felt much the same, she realized, a lonely vessel in the world, suddenly welcomed to safe harbor.

"My King… forgive us… we are not finished yet." one of the King's dressers said gently from where he stood aside. Lusis glanced in time to see the quiet joy on the man's face.

The King dutifully released her and straightened for his next layer. "Eboa," his elven accent drew out the name. "She gave us the gift of time by being… unready for our hasty return to Long Lake. I suppose I owe the elves of the West for that. We almost certainly interrupted a troop movement along the River Running. I encountered a cold that was not fitting for claimed lands here. There were men going missing, a mix of feed for the dragons and soldiers that Drivenn had seeded in the area, going to Erebor, and you already know how we sorted out the inexplicable lights flashing over the city."

Lusis remembered hearing about this. "Oh – yes! Eboa used the seal of the Enemy to pass troops under Lake Township. Day and night, its dark power kept her movements completely undetected as they deployed to overrun this city." It was why she'd run into so many skirmishes erupting in the streets on her way to the amphitheater.

"It is how they welled up and attacked through town," agreed the Elfking. "Dwarf tunnels." He shut his eyes and sighed, "Of course. I cannot believe there was a time that anyone alleged this mountain utterly sealed, entirely impregnable. I long suspected that no clever dwarf would amass such wealth only to lock himself out of his own house quite by accident."

His beautiful house, Lusis thought as she circled the Elvenking.

"Over the passage of many days, the Lord and I traveled Lake Township and we were able to narrow the location to the center of this growing community," the King took a second layer of long coat, this one threaded in gold and a burnished red in colour. "We were never able to capture the caster of the lights – Eboa's mirror and… someone else's. They worked in tandem, and slowly, cautiously. However clever and careful her deliberation, I began to realize something." He raised his hand and looked into his pale palm. "The mirrors of flesh in our hands, the Lord's and my own, were connected. As the light of the sun reflects mirror-to-mirror, so I soon found it possible to… to help the ailing Lord by reflecting my own strength into him." The Elfking laid a hand over his chest.

It might have been an unconscious gesture, but Lusis could see how it was done from that one motion. His hand made a silhouette now, but when it had had the ghostly mirror his fire would have cast the light straight through his skin. If he'd lined up with Elrond, and the Lord had caught the light against his own hand, the Secret Fire of the King would have fed the failing fire in Lord Elrond. Her eyes widened. "Your flame was different when I came upon you in Erebor's sea of gold because… because you…." He'd somehow figured out how to suppress it to fool Nema and Eboa, and the only way he could have learned to perform such a trick on a fire he could not see with his own eyes was through the feel of his fire's manipulation.

Enemy spells had unsuspectingly taught him the feeling of the banked fire, and Lusis had inadvertently taught him how to stir back to a blast of light again. She shut her eyes. "You let her take you. Took a calculated risk. You sent Lord Elrond ahead of you with Glorfindel to watch over him."

"They wanted us alive," said the King. "Clearly."

"She's astute," Elrond shut the book he read and set it on a side-table. "Bright Istari, are you sure you want to contract with this great, tall, blond-haired brute, who-"

The King made a low hiss as he swung toward Elrond. Glorfindel's muffled laugh surprised her, and, apparently, the Lord of Rivendell, who had to turn his face away to hide his mirth.

"Yes," she said, even if it was rhetorical. She looked up at her King, "I'm sure."

He'd followed captured Elrond into Eboa's lair. He'd transferred his power to the Lord as soon as he'd been able… or seen Lusis… or when Legolas had jolted him back to reality – one of those. She headed for the door, astonished by his boldness. He was too arrogant for his own safety, and yet he had a long history of thinking himself through these things. She didn't want to leave him alone through such misadventures. Then something occurred to her, "You began to wear the Crown of Rhiwaras that day because you wanted to leave the Circlet of War behind, just in case, for Legolas."

"It was simply luck that it came to me when it did, or I would have gone without, as I have these latest seasons," he told her. "I want to leave something of… of my father's… for my son, and I was sure to take Lossivor with me. But, yes. You are correct. I believe the most difficult part was convincing Ewon, Dorondir, and the other good elves who knew my schemes, to let me walk, freely, into danger. But I knew Legolas would not hinder me. I… I knew he would likely not be there until the deed was done."

"He came through for you, my King. He loves you." Lusis said as she reached the door, and waiting Nimpeth, who, dauntingly, looked none-too-amused with Lusis' flouting of elven tradition.

"Yes. He is a servant of the Kingdom in the end, my son." The King inclined his glowing head.

But that wasn't what Lusis had meant. She let it go for the moment. Not only did Lusis have worries of her own, judging solely by the grinding of Nimpeth's elven teeth, she had time, yet, to teach her golden King differently.

The sun had progressed through the sky. Ewon stood outside the door to her room.

Lusis grumbled, "Where's the King? Has he left?" He'd gotten her into this. Not the dress, but-

"Waiting." Said the Elite.

The Yellow Istari glanced down at the three elven girls, tiny and slender in build, as if only young teens, who were arranging her sword belt. They looked so small and innocent, but they had pin-tucked, altered, and tightened the sensation out of her limbs. Likewise, she hadn't been allowed to refuse the circlet this time, but it was small and delicate – silver and seed pearls – like snowfall.

Her dress was another point on which she'd conceded to the will of Mirkwood. For it was their will that enacted this. The dress was white. It had a scooped neck, and it was shape hugging. Crystals and seed pearls dangled from it. On small strings. But they had done one thing for her. They'd built in a sword belt, likewise white and encrusted in fineries. Her curved elven sword had been polished and its pommel changed out for something in mother-of-pearl for the occasion.

White as it was, Mallencalar is what elves called it now. The Golden Lamp.

Because of the brilliant light that lit Erebor golden in the moment you protected the Elvenlord, Glorfindel had told her. He'd been the one who had taken apart and then cleaned her sword so expertly. May the gods bless you for that.

As soon as the dressers stepped back, Lusis lashed out the sword and dropped into a crouch. The slit in the side of her dress gave her legs motility, the fabric stretched with her. It would have to do. Lusis put the sword away in its ornate scabbard and stepped down from the dais.

"Shoes." Smiled Nimpeth.

"Boots." Lusis shook her ringlet-covered head.

"Shoes." Ewon hastily advised from outside the door.

Lusis stared at the tall Elite woman, until Nimpeth said, "There are no boots."

"Hardly. Someone here can find some white ones to fit me."

Nimpeth's brows drew down. "I will burn all the white boots in Long Lake, myself."

And, for a bizarre moment, she could see Nimpeth calmly making a pile of them, covering them with lamp oil, and setting them alight, all while the young women of Long Lake ringed around the blaze and held one another. And wept.

"Shoes," Lusis said brightly, the heart of compromise. Honestly!

"Good," Ewon added, immediately.

Happy Nimpeth, who was just beginning to show, was back in a flickering, and she went to a small paper box and lifted out crystal-studded slippers. They had no heels, at the very least. Lusis stepped into them and found they fit her no differently than her elven boots always did. She looked up at the elves. "You realize there is a melt outside. If we're really to do this in the wild, like you say, these shoes will be sucked right off my feet and lost forever in mud."

Nimpeth told her, slowly, unequivocally, "That will not happen, my Lady."

Lusis quailed and wondered, idly, if all pregnant elf-women were so scary. Ewon had two children, and he certainly acted like they were. Next, she stepped in front of the mirror and looked at the deeply tanned stranger whose black eyes glimmered and whose hair had gone golden. Elves laid a silken wrap around her shoulders. She touched her Silvan braids adoringly. Those, she loved.

"I'm ready," Lusis said after a moment. And she realized that she actually… was.

Nimpeth, who was in a dress of blue and silver, and whose black hair rippled like a river under the moon, hurried excitedly into the low rumble of elven conversation in the hallway.

Lusis turned toward the doorway and called out. "I hope you're happy, Elvenking. This dress is so ornate it is blinding, and it is very fitted. I'll have to peel it off like an orange rind tonight."

The noise in the hallway increased, at once. Which was followed by an immediate thud as Nimpeth elbowed her husband's ribs. "Say nothing!"

"I'm sure you look lovely," Amathon wheezed.

The windowed hall erupted in a great swell of good humour and good nature.

"You shall have to assist her, Greatest King."

"Surely this thing is not beyond your abilities to do."

"Of course not! He has brought peace to this harrowed Kingdom," Amathon recovered. "Surely he can peel an orange!"

"Scamp!" Nimpeth exclaimed, but it was impossible for her to hide how she felt about her husband. She smiled on the end of that, at his irreverence.

Lusis was grinning too. This informality she'd noticed just before the sealing of highly personal contracts was as close as she'd ever seen elves come to the behaviour of Rangers. It was working magic against her nervousness. It took a lot of anxious time, it turned out, to put on such fineries.

When she stepped out, the Elites fell into lines along the hall. Amathon, at the left of the door, turned his head and his expression softened. "Ah, friend-Lusis, you look like you belong in that dress."

She met his eyes and said a heartfelt, "That's probably because the only thing I own that is tighter is my actual skin."

He turned away and laughed. Amathon looked so lovely that Lusis shot a glance toward the windows, just to be sure that Nimpeth wasn't missing it. The Elite stepped up to her husband and took his hand. Ewon quickly crossed the doorway and smoothed his daughter's hair. "My children, I must go. I have been asked to walk with the Lady on her way to the King."

Lusis followed the Elite elf down the stairs. The hall was packed so that there was only a small span through the press of people. The double-doors were open. The courtyard outside was filled.

"Peace, Lady. You will be fine." Ewon's voice was a low coo.

Remee fell in beside her on her right, and he said, "I almost didn't recognize you." He looked around then both, nervously. "Lusis, there are elves here – many elves. Some of them are such as I have never before witnessed."

They passed through the doors and Lusis saw her Western friend for the first time in days. "Hello Osp." Her hand curled around his pale fingers. She glanced aside at Loss and Glir, both of whom seemed uncomfortably aware of the hundreds of humans who choked the yard beyond. Their unblinking gazes were unreadable now.

"Friend-Lusis," Osp pressed a small frothy bee into her palm. "For you." She smiled at it and then fastened it to her sleeve, careful that it was properly anchored. It honestly did remind her of him.

Remee stared at colourlessly white Loss – his entire being bleached by the light of the Trees. She passed him by. She continued down the stairs and muttered to Ewon. "No one told me they would be here." She noticed that the thickness of elves and people was clearing away.

Ewon glanced down at her, "They insisted and Lord Eithahawn had to submit. There is only so long that such powerful elves can be waylaid." Remee glanced aside at this.

Her brows rose. "They aren't going to like me much, then." Ewon seemed to agree.

"Ready, Lus?" Remee asked her.

"I am." She nudged her anxious brother. "This is only an event because he is a King. Relax."

"You haven't seen her. It's… impossible. You don't yet know…." Remee babbled, and, at Lusis' other side, Ewon smothered a broad smile in the gravity of the moment.

Lusis didn't follow this reasoning until, ahead, the crowd cleared back around the glow of Lady Galadriel of Lorien. Oh. Remee stood stock still, in awe. Lady Galadriel came forward on pale, bare feet. She opened her silvery arms and smiled gently. Then she drifted aside in a rush of crystalline noise, "Istari-Lusis, my eyes are glad to see you again. I have brought to you my childhood companion. He is my heart's good friend, Thranduil. I give his care to you, and I thank you for protecting him."

Behind her, the King raised his head, his silver-blond hair gleaming. Even for him, the outfit was extravagant. He had a cloak of silver, glistening with palest green stones, and his silver long-coat was threaded with soft green stitch-work patterned as leaves; the long-coat directly underneath was a more intense green and gold, and followed by a single papery thin tier of red-gold. He had the appearance of a vigorous spring which had, at its center, the colours of his Kingdom. The Elvenking was aglow.

Remee cleared his throat and said, "This is my sister. She is the princess of our family," Lusis looked at him crossly, but he carried on, "a great Ranger Chief, and bane of evils of the North. She is my father's greatest pride. His only daughter. To her we owe our lives, so many of us. I do, personally. There is no truer soul." Lusis stared at her big brother, full of gratitude. There was a moment of silence after this, during which many elves inclined their heads in respect. Remee finished, "I give her into your care. May the gods save you."

Remee nodded at the King, quite serious. Unable to suppress her grin, Lusis stepped away from her older brother and went to the King. She murmured a low, exigent, "The Council of the West is here, just behind."

He bent over her shoulder, his voice hushed, "They are very interested in this contract," he whispered. "The Lady Galadriel told me in confidence that they do not consider the Silvan ritual to be legitimate… but then Osp wasted no time in supplying us with the details of an old Vanyar equivalent. We will not be tricked into parting. We are combining the two traditions here today."

She made a sound of soft entertainment. Osp had helped the King? "Won't they be surprised."

They had to make their way through the crowd to the Elvenking's tree along new and scrubbed cobbles. The closer to the Silver Beech they went, the warmer the air was and, under its spreading branches, it was already spring. Lusis simply walked side-by-side with Thranduil. They circled the tree thrice before they came to a stop and faced glorious Eithahawn, who was clad in unrelieved red and holding a book. Beside him was Legolas in silvery green. The Elvenprince raised a red silk cord.

The King saw them and his head tilted. "Legolas… why are you wet?"

The thronging elves both around the beech and the protective station, and up in the tree itself, huffed with suppressed enjoyment.

The Elvenprince stepped forward and looped one end of the red cord around his father's hand, and one around Lusis'. He was careful not to drip on either of them. "I was a little far afield, ada. We can talk later." He stepped back, large-eyed, and nodded quietly. "My best to you, Lady Lusis. My… father to you."

Lusis had to look away.

As he peered down at the book he held, Eithahawn seemed grave, but when his blue-green eyes found her, Lusis could see that he was excited. "Do you enter this contract freely?"

They both said 'Yes', as instructed.

The humans of Lake Township erupted into a terrific volley of cheering. It was deafening.

"Do you both agree to break the contract in grace and goodwill when either or both feel the time has come to part?"

They both answered 'Yes'.

"I am Kingdom's-seneschal of the Great Greenwood, and the power is invested in me to sanction this Agreement." He stepped forward with the book open before him. Legolas offered a pen. "Please sign the Legend."

The King took the pen and signed his swirling name on the white page in burnished red ink. Legolas had prepared a second pen for her and his brows drew up. "Your ink is gold. How fitting!"

The tree above rustled as she took up the pen. Merilin dropped out of the rustling and bowed deeply. "Forgive me, Greatest King. Men are coming from the North East. They have come out from behind Erebor just now. They will be at the edge of Lake Township in a very short time."

"Many?" asked the King.

Merilin nodded. "Enough that it would be remiss if we did not alert you, even now."

"Legolas, a section," the King turned to his son.

The Elvenprince shut his hand around Lusis' on the pen. "Please write your name, Istari. I have been monitoring their advance. I will lead a force to meet them." He glanced up at his father before he stepped away.

Lusis scribbled her name into the book with one hand, and pulled her ringing sword with the other, ready to defend the King.

He laid a hand over hers on the hilt as soon as she finished signing. The humans cheered loudly, not having understood that the interruption was not a part of the normal progression of the Contract. Which wasn't to be blamed on them. The Elvenprince was soaking wet, and they hadn't let that throw them. Lusis let the tip of her blade tap the roots of the King's Tree, unaware of the sudden flickering of yellow along the wood that caused the tree to suddenly flower and the King to sigh. She knew only that the cheering was loud and she wanted to know her King's mind.

He spoke into her thoughts. 'I must postpone celebration, Lusis-Istari. To wait on this.'

'Then let's go.' She hoped she replied correctly. Mental chatter was a bit beyond her. She was never sure she was doing it properly.

Eithahawn stepped aside and shut the book, 'Be careful, ada, and elvellon.'

It took several minutes to get clear of the celebrations. The Elfking spoke to Ewon, and he guided them into Kasia's main building. Argus Samas was stunned to see them come through. "Aren't you two supposed to be headed to the rather massive party in Kasia's hall?"

"Merilin spotted approach from the North-East." Lusis said.

"And that's what we're here for," Samas got to his feet. "With all due respect, shouldn't you go to the elf-room and spend some time away from the noise? It is deafening out there, and a security nightmare." He glanced at Ewon, "I mean to take Rangers and Forces. Would you quietly rally some Elites to travel with us?"

"Ma," Thranduil exhaled on the end of this. "Send me an elf who has seen them, as Legolas has already flown this place."

"I should go." Lusis told the King.

He caught her hand, "You should send Remee and trust. They will bring us news soon enough."

Outside the festivities had already begun. In the streets, treats were handed out, wine flowed freely, meat sizzled, and clay vessels roasted vegetables. Avonne ran through the courtyard with streamers of children by her. Men spoke to nimble elves, and a knife throwing contest struck up between Men of the Peaks and pregnant Nimpeth, of all beings. Telfeth waited her turn, which weighted the odds heavily, though Breg's men couldn't know it. Lusis could see and hear this from the upstairs windows of the Main building, just as she could see how Icar, Aric, Steed, and Redd were trying to teach Osp and the Lady Galadriel to properly hold and toss a throwing knife.

Lady Galadriel. "Fires," Lusis exhaled. She clapped a hand to her forehead, finally knowing how Jan Kasia must feel when Avonne climbed on the Elvenking. Though, for once, the building was empty, a cloak dropped over her shoulders. It smelt of soothing forest.

The Elfking stepped beside her. His head tipped. "And… what are they doing to Galadriel."

"Teaching her knife handling." Lusis nodded.

He sounded baffled, "She... has Nenya, her Ring of Power, and so she has enough magic for a country. Which means she is fully capable of throwing down the buildings of all of Lake Township, and vaporizing her enemies."

He'd actually slowed on the word 'vaporizing'. Lusis blinked at him. "Oh… of course. Of course she can level a city with a wiggle of her pinkie. Which would make my guys think she's totally defenseless." She laughed because of the nerves, and because she couldn't help it. She glanced at the King worriedly, but he seemed pleased.

"I do not wish for you to forget what you are. You are not one of us. You do not have to be. For all your much appreciated sensitivity." He told her.

Lusis bowed to him. She stared at him, aglow in the rising sun, and then said, "This gambit of your sons'... has been sudden. Are you okay?"

"Ai. Come away," The King exhaled. He reached up to the Living Crown he wore and took it off of his head. She wasn't nearly as adept, and so it took the King to get hers out without turning her hair into a nest. They went into the elven room and he surprised her by going right to the back, to wood benches the elves had built along the wall, for sleeping. Someone had set out fruit and wine there. All around them, there were gifts in silken bags and ribbons. It was stunning. Lusis didn't touch any.

She picked up the bottle as he curled his long legs under him on the shelf-like cot. "Ah. This is the sweet wine, remember?" Her nerves felt like bowstrings released. It was exhausting.

"Yes," the King inhaled to still his spirit. He'd been restless all morning. Almost anxious. "Did you know… one of Drivenn's forces intercepted the bottles sent to me and put drops of dragon's blood into the wine? The sweetness nearly drowned out the scent of lightning that dragons emit. It happened the night I opened the contract my sons sent to us."

Lusis lifted the bottle and sniffed it, "You didn't drink any." She set it aside and looked at him.

"No, I did not." he smiled without warmth. "But Eboa had gone to such lengths… though I didn't yet know she was at the bottom of this debacle. There was so little to distract me at the time that I detected the scent of it, and I had time to think of why… yes, she didn't need to know that I'd found it out. I made up my mind to go to her as if I had drunk it all." He took the bottle she'd abandoned on the sill. "But this one is safe… another good sign." He poured them drinks and, lacking anything else to do, she sat down on the bench with him. He handed her a cup of wine, uncertainly. "Will you try it?"

She felt like she could use a glass. Maybe a bottle. She held it up in the sun first, and marveled at its secret role in this. She couldn't even remember when he'd had the tainted bottle. Fires.

Lusis found the wine light and very good. Eventually, she leaned against the King and watched the hypnotic advancement of the sun across the polished wood, and across his white-blond hair. Everything about her slowed to a drift. Neither of them had rested in days. His white-golden head soon sank against her shoulder. "Are you okay?" she murmured. But… it was unfair of her to ask him so soon. He couldn't know the answer to that question. He hadn't caught his breath until just now. Neither had she, but that didn't stop her worrying about what his answer would be. She needed a distraction, and cast about her, quietly. And, of course, since he was asleep, her long-curious fingers reached out and touched the Living Crown's pine needles. The wood of it was warm and bright, it made her fingertips smell like pine cones.

Then the wood shuddered away all its greenery and Lusis grimaced and yanked back her hand. One could _not_ simply _hide_ the _Living Crown_ under a _pillow_. As if she were locked in a nightmare, the Elfking stirred suddenly. Lusis quickly folded her hands in her lap and smiled. She _willed_ him not to look at the crown. _No-no-no_.

But the King was not bothered by its condition. Slowly, green buds grew out. Several opened into bright green shoots.

Lusis marveled quietly, "Is... is it spring?"

The King glanced from her to the crown and back, "Perhaps..." he said slowly, "for me." Otherwise, he waited.

It turned out that he had heard something she could not. The arrival of the elf he'd asked for. One who had seen the incoming Men.

"My King and Lady Lusis," Ewon entered the room and bowed.

The King rose to his feet and crossed through panels of gleaming sunlight. His clothes gleamed as towering and broad Lonnan Buckmaster walked into the room between Amathon and Dorondir. He saw his sister and his eyes beaded with tears almost immediately. He glanced over her clothes and said, "What dream is this? Little Lusis, you look like a queen."

The King's head cocked and he pivoted toward Lusis. "This is one of yours, which you identified as among the good of your kin?"

"I… I am sorry to interrupt," Lonnan bowed to the King. He'd been briefed on precisely who the elven traveler to his autumnal Keep had been. His eyes were large as he added, "Elfking."

Lusis leapt to her feet. "Lonn? What are you doing here?" She smiled, ran through the room to him, and fell into his hug.

"Tira and Irin are with mother, Lusis, and much of the family with them. They are yet a league or two behind with the sleighs. They have come to a place where even the rime is thawing – very odd!" He lifted her off of her feet. "What is the celebration outside?"

"I'll explain later," she caught his hand and hurried out of the door with him. She dragged him along to the brief little balcony that overlooked the city.

The King came out behind them and laid a hand on the rail. "Ah. My eyes see my son charging through rivers on horseback." The King sighed, but then added, "And many Northern sleighs. Ai, and families carrying children in their arms through rough terrain."

Lonnan blinked at Lusis, "Can he… truly make that out?"

She smiled up at him, "Oh yes, big-brother. You aren't accustomed to elves. Yet." But even she could see that the line of misery coming through the midwinter wilds to Lake Township was expansive and flew the Buckmaster standard.

The King turned his head to Ewon. "Prepare two sections for riding out, and a horse for Lusis. We will go out to meet them and bring supplies, for they fly the banners of Buckmaster Keep in the North." The Elite left at once, and Dorondir and Amathon remained to safeguard them.

This made Lusis jolt and turn to Dorondir. "But, if that's true, then over half the people on the Spur have come down from the North… the long way." The dark-haired spy, Dorondir glanced over her sympathetically.

Lonnan's exhausted head nodded, wordlessly in response. He found the energy to tell her the sordid truth. "Lusis, more alliances in the brothers have changed than you are guessing, little one. For Kirstman took a wife who is known as Redrine. She came to Keep with her Northern kin just weeks ago, and these are not good men. Fighting has been almost constant, and… the woman has seven dragons. They obey her. Even the brothers who stood behind Kirstman as next-in-line, as the natural heir, even they have been shaken at their foundations. But Kirstman's opinion is that the dragon-tamer's power will protect the Keep and the North when the elves are gone… that Lady Redrine of the Spur will help to clear every warg from every crag. But we know better. No dragon ever darkened the Men of the North that didn't mean harm to all."

"True." The Istari shut her eyes. In this place, so crowded and unruly, they would need to feed and house her proud Northern people – now exiles. She pushed through. "Mother. Her people were from this region long ago. She had such stories of Dale and Esragoth for us, passed down her line."

"Yes," Lonnan's face flinched with pain. "So she has brought us home. Homeless."

The King scrutinized the human expression on Lonnan's scraggly face, "Do not fear." He took the hand of his contracted companion and looked at her, "Do not fear, Lusis-dess. I will not turn my back on your people, for they are my own. The needed lands will be claimed, and lodgings shall be erected. Your Keep still lives. Your way of life. Your people, so long of the mountains." He glanced into her deep black eyes, "Your army of Rangers against Kirstman the Deserter. They come to you across the plains behind the Lonely Mountain."

He shone. It seemed momentarily impossible for her to look away.

"It's true, we stand with you. We understand your heart, or try." Lonnan told her, and, like her father might, said. "Courage, little Buckmaster. We found our way here on Mellona Buckmaster's memory. She is a true Ranger. And we have fought our way to you. All is not lost."

Lusis inhaled deeply, looked down at her attire, and shook out her coiling hair. She felt confident that she could ride in the dress. It might take a few hasty... alterations... with her sword. But her mother and brothers, their families, were out there yet. With her people. She would not delay in bringing supplies and rescue. Nevrman's daughter was a Messenger-woman. She carried relief with her.

The King cast a final glance at the stream of incoming Northern Men under the glint of melt and rising sun. He laid a hand on Lyglim on one side, and then tightened the belt on Lossivor.

Already at the sunny doorframe, Lusis remembered herself, paused, and turned to wait for him.

The Elvenking fell in beside the sure strides of his Istari, his light a blinding pillar of blue-silver flames that leaned into the aura of her golden starpoint. She set a hand at the base of her throat and wondered at the contract, for her star no longer concealed that it favoured his fire. She looked up at his timely glance and wondered how he felt. She yearned to know his mind, even while she was aware they were bound together in a greater communion.

His hand closed over her own on the stairs, to steady her step in the dress.

A bond no eyes could see, she suspected.

Save her own.

~*~ **End** ~*~

Thank you for reading!

Special thanks to tumblr's evil-bones-mccoy and doomedredshirt for advice on Elven heraldry. Thank you to the _awesome_ people encouraging me, and to alliwantismoorethranduil, particularly! I appreciate your support through writing these books!

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